Harriet Matirni and the Wizarding World
by H Bregalad
Summary: With the help of James Thurber's "The 13 Clocks," Petunia, a squib, convinces Severus to help her find alternative magical education. He locates the Matirni Traveling Circus for her. She lives happily ever after (and willingly takes in her little sister's orphan. Who happens to be a metamorphmagus. Plotting ensues.) This is Harriet's first year.
1. Exit: Puck - Enter:Owl

**{Disclaimer}**

_If you recognise it from somewhere else, then I almost certainly don__'t own it. When Harriet references characters you don't know, take it as an invitation to catch up on your Shakespeare._

_If you wish to help beta this or future works me please contact me. If you find a spelling or grammar error that takes you out of the story, feel free to tell me about it, though if it__'s inside quotes it _might _be intended as characterisation and I might choose not to fix it. I did my best to use UK spelling and phrasing over US, but assume there are lapses, if you have further suggestions regarding that I__'m open to consider them._

_If there are scenes or one liners that you would like to see with these versions of these characters in future years feel free to send me those as well, no promises. Ditto if I missed obvious allusions to Shakespeare in conversations where characters would have indulged._

_There is already at least one companion OMAKE story in progress. _

_Based on feedback I am re-releasing this in smaller sections, Thanks for the feedback. I apologise for the hyphens it seems the most effective way to keep my line breaks where they belong._

…

_This is an story about who Harry might be, in an AU that diverges before Lily and Snape go to Hogwarts. The divergence starts when Petunia is given a book called __'The Thirteen Clocks' by James Thurber. She finds the formula used by it's protagonists, "If X must be done, and cannot be done by method Y, then it must be attempted by a method not-Y," to be infinitely more useful than "If at first you don't succeed, try try again," and of course she lives too early to have heard the early 21 century buzzword version of the adage, "Fail better."_

_Because of this strategy she manages to gain Snape__'s respect and help, though not the friendship for which she had originally been jealous. With access to his research and aid she managed to gain entrance to a different magical community. A community made up of contented squibs rather than jealous ones._

_..._

_Enjoy,_

_H. Bregalad_

**Puck**

Robin Goodfellow, AKA Puck, AKA Harriet Matirni, made sure the centre stage rope was wrapped securely around her left leg as she swung back toward "Hathaway's Tower." Timing it carefully, she stretched out her right toe to push off just a little bit harder. Not enough speed to frighten the audience (or her mother if she were watching). Quickly she brought her right foot back to grasp the trailing end of the rope so that she her hands would be free to grab the stage left rope at the optimal time for a controlled (graceful) transfer to stage left. Once she'd wound stage left rope around one leg while unwinding the centre stage rope from her right leg with a series of split-like swings of her legs, she pulled the centre stage rope just enough to give herself the amount of swing she'd need to finish the act.

Mostly it consisted of turning upside down, pretending to sprinkle her two older cousins with the love-in-idleness potion, and then landing gently and scampering off. And anything she did that kept those things in order would count as 'an accurate reproduction of the play' for most of her cousins, and probably the audience.

But it wouldn't satisfy "Lady Hathaway" AKA her cousin Ann, or her grandfather. To please _them_, all her rope work and pirouettes and additudes would have to look not just safely controlled but actually graceful. Also Ann was addicted to tying her hair to things (like the fairy wings on her back) and making her flap them by shortening and lengthening different wisps of her hair independently of the rest. Which was fine on the ground doing nothing more complicated than walking, but changing her hair's _length_, unlike it's colour or it's curliness took a lot of concentration.

.

Once she was oriented to sprinkle her cousins with the 'potion' here represented by an empty (and clean, thank goodness) syrup pitcher she did manage several wing flaps as she fumbled in her pocket for the pitcher and made faces at her "sleeping" cousins. Other than that, she had a tiny bit of trouble because she forgot to tuck the pitcher back in her pocket before she tried to return to an upright position. But she managed anyway, swung off to the left and slid to the stage without any mishap worth mentioning to her mother.

She even managed a few more wing flaps as she scampered off stage and hurried to the top of the tower to school her features into the character of her next part.

She played about a third of the characters in most of the plays she was in. It was just about the only thing she was good at.

That and brewing, she was _excellent _at brewing, almost as good as the great Madam Solanaceae, AKA Petunia Matirni, AKA Mum, but then all her siblings and most of her cousins (except Rusty) were at least ok at brewing, as long as they had a recipee to follow so it didn't show much.

.

As she stood at the top of the tower waiting for her cue, watching her cousins wander about in long snaking not quite love triangles, more like love serpents. (ew…) she vowed she would never use or condone love potions, maybe that should include other methods of imparting compulsions. There was a sobering thought… she sort of had this mental thing she did to her hawk Hedwig now and then, which _might _be a compulsion. Or it might just be a means of animal communication, Mum said that there were such things, she even said a lot of the roustabouts and the some of the trainers were not just capable but fairly good at that sort of thing.

It seemed a more useful skill than changing the length of her hair.

So she wouldn't swear off compulsions just yet…

She was startled by a hoot and she looked up just in time to see an owl land on the railing right next to her shoulder.

"Well hello," she whispered, "aren't you up and about a little early?"

It hooted more insistently and held out her leg. There was a letter tied to it.

She looked closer, it was addressed "To: Harry Potter, Care of: Harriet Matirni, Matirni Travelling Circus"

"Another one?" she whispered, "Why do I always get stuck playing Costard in real life, I've _never _played him in Love's Labours Lost." Actually Ann had tried to get her to take the part last time the play had been restructured to allow maximum use of Harriet's skills. Harriet had refused on principle. She knew it had started because she used to be too naive to understand why any sort of communication might ought to be kept secret, _and _because she didn't charge as much as some of her cousins to make the deliveries and keep quiet about things. Now she did it because she found it amusing to know who was having secret communication with who.

She wasn't to the point of being able to guess what _sort _of secret communication was happening before it all came out publicly, but she felt like she was getting close.

And now someone had the audacity to go by "Harry Potter" and was receiving things by owl. _By Owl!_

She untied the letter and stuck it in her pocket, "do I get reward or remuneration or _anything_ for this?"

The owl looked affronted and flew away. Perhaps _she__'d_ been supposed to feed _it_, animals often operated by different rules.

"Fine then," she muttered and returned her attention to the stage, one more act and she'd go find her mother, and probably lunch.

...

Harriet approached the tent of "The Great Madam Solanaceae," she was relieved to see the "Closed" sign dangling over the door. She slipped inside. And double checked that she'd put on her own face, a face half like her mother's, but with a dainty version of her father's cleft chin. And a small version of her uncle's ears … She never figured out why she liked her uncle's ears, no one ever mentioned noticing anything about her ears except when she made them too big, but she liked them so she kept them, but she kept them small.

"We're closed. Come back after lunch," said her mum grumpily from where she leaned over her gilded chest of potions vials.

"But Great Madam, I'm looking for someone, you _must_ help me find them," Harriet whinged in mock hysterics.

"Oh. Hi Harriet. Do you know what's for lunch?" Said Petunia, "I mean besides birthday cake."

"Hi mum. No, I don't," said Harriet, "so do you know anyone who'd dare to go by 'Harry Potter' Or do you think it was one of the mundanes who doesn't know better." For a second that had sounded like the most innocent possibility, but then the bloody letter had arrived by owl, it would take a special kind of mundane to try to send secret post by owl _and_ forget to pay for the assistance of the the "care of" recipient.

Petunia sat up with her eyes the widest Harriet had ever seen them, and that _included _when she was gazing into her crystal ball. "Who wants to know?"

That was about how Harriet had felt half an hour ago.

Harriet shrugged and tossed the letter on the table, "this letter, or rather, _I_ want to know so I can pass it on properly."

Petunia picked up the letter and glared at it like it had eaten her cousin Rusty and come back for seconds. Then she brought it to her face and sniffed it carefully.

Checking for … potions? Perfumes? Identifiable B.O.?

"Where did you get it?" said Petunia.

"An owl, waved it in my face and glared at me until I got it off his leg for him… her." It was big enough it was probably female, in most birds of pray the female was larger.

Petunia nodded and brought over the incense tray, and laid it on the table by the candle.

So, this was going to involve a long enough story that refreshing the incense was required first? But all Harriet had asked was who to pass the letter to not why the idiot had chosen that alias.

"Who uses owls to deliver post?"

"The wizarding world," said Petunia.

A shiver went up Harriet's spine, Harry Potter, hero of the wizarding world, received a letter by an owl, a probable post carrier from the wizarding world. That couldn't be a coincidence. To _her_, the middle-child of the Great Madam Solanaceae, AKA Petunia Matirni. Unsolicited encounters with the wizarding world almost always went badly for members of the Matirni Travelling Circus.

With a deceptively simple, smooth motion the letter was in the candle, and a second later lay flaming into ash on the incense tray.

Harriet worked hard to suppress her surprise far enough to get her mouth closed.

Petunia's eyes rose to meet Harriet's, "consider the letter properly delivered,"

Harriet felt her eyes widen as the pieces slid together, like a potion finally forming. "Are _we _the ones hiding Harry Potter?" whispered Harriet.

Petunia's head jerked the minutest amount, a nod, but barely large enough to be visible from two feet away, and in candle light. Anyone outside would not have seen it. Even if the door had been open.

"Dear God," whispered Harriet and sat down.

"None of that," said Petunia grabbing her shoulder and leading her toward the tent flap, "normal day, nothing unusual, just circus acts to do and the show must go on."

"Right," said Harriet.

As soon as she was following under her own power, Petunia let go.

...

They made their way to the small seating area hidden inside the ring of diner wagons. When Harriet had a meal's worth of food accumulated she went and sat near where Ann was holding court with those of her siblings and cousins who were currently under her tutelage.

Petunia sat across from her with a benevolent smile and stuffed her face with a gusto that implied that telling fortunes and selling potions took exponentially more energy than swinging from ropes and scampering all over stage did.

Harriet looked at her plate and tried to hear what Ann was saying from the end of the table.

A familiar presence sat down next to Petunia and murmured hopeful but esoteric things about the apothecary trade and Uncle Royce's enchanted trinket boxes.

Harriet looked up at her brilliant father, AKA The Great Councillor Sivo, AKA Gray Matirni. She admired his black goatee and the way it highlighted his cleft chin, and made him look haughty and enlightened.

If she wore a beard it would look like that.

Well, if she wore a beard for reasons that didn't involve the stage or being in disguise.

It was after all, all about image. About seeming to be the sort of person that people would come to to get the sort of help you wanted to give them. Or from time to time, the reverse.

...

That was an interesting concept, what was it about her appearance that made everyone think she was an amateur postal worker. And the owl had come to her when she wasn't even wearing her normal features, how did it do that? Hedwig did that too, but Harriet had figured it had something to do with the way she called her hawk and being the only one with a gloved fist in the air.

"Did something happen to Harriet?" Dad said.

"She saw a Hogwarts letter," said Petunia.

"Is she bothered by the diversity of subjects available there, or the thought of hawks not being allowed." There went dad again, knowing when she was thinking about Hedwig, though not what about her.

"The letter was addressed to Harry Potter," Mum said.

"Oh, what did you do?" he said

"I burned it." She said.

"Of course you did, what did you tell Harriet?"

"I didn't tell her anything, I confirmed her guess that the circus was hiding Potter."

"Ah," he said, "Harriet,"

Harriet looked up.

"Awesome deduction," he grinned and held up his hand.

She gave him a high five and grinned back.

He turned back to Petunia, "What's next then? You've had more direct experience with Magical Britain than I have?"

"Well, we'll have to figure out if 'Potter' is going to attend, and then write a letter to that effect, probably we should also give a copy to Harriet and to Royce, to hand off to whatever owl stops by next, just in case one visits either of them first."

"Why did the letter come through me anyway?" said Harriet.

Gray looked up just long enough to say, "You can never tell with wizards." And he winked.

"Actually…" said Petunia.

Grey's shoulders slumped and he looked back at Harriet, "Wizards and witches or their owls… actually I'm not sure which… prefer to deliver to people with a certain type of magical core, you have it and your uncle Royce has it. Hence his ability with a wand."

"And Harry Potter?" said Harriet.

"One assumes," said Gray, "though the fact his letter was addressed through you does make one wonder."

"'Kay," said Harriet.

"Given what is public knowledge about Potter's family situation," said Petunia, "it's possible his family paid his tuition before he was old enough for his magic to be tested."

"Point," said Gray, "How much _is_ tuition?"

"Several stone of gold,"

"Actual gold?" said Gray, "my my, how decoupled."

Petunia shrugged.

"It would be a shame to let that go to waste," said Gray.

"What are you saying?" said Petunia.

"Suppose H— Potter doesn't want to attend," said Gray, "Suppose Harriet impersonated him for the purpose of not letting all that prepaid tuition go to waste."

"I don't see Royce allowing Potter not to go," said Petunia.

"I'm sure he'll insist that Potter be properly trained, just like he always has, but that doesn't necessarily include Hogwarts."

"Perhaps," said Petunia.

"How beautifully mercenary," whispered Harriet then aloud, "Umm, as long as Harry doesn't expect me to be able to reimburse him."

"Good point," said Gray.

Petunia looked at her, "would you actually be interested in learning wand work, and well, whatever the wizarding world bothers to teach school children about brewing and astronomy and inscribing?"

Harriet shrugged.

"My sister," said Petunia like it annoyed her, "was said to be good with 'charms', which for wizards seems to mean a particular subsection wand work, instead of rune work."

"Odd," said Harriet.

Petunia shrugged, "Anyway, decide what you want and tell me," said Petunia she turned to Gray, "you check with Potter about what he wants and get back to me?"

"Right," said Gray slowly and got up and headed toward the wagon that he and his younger brother ran, an apothecary shop and dealer in harmless charmed trinkets of all possible types.

"Just to clarify," said Harriet, "why would Potter _not _want to go?"

Petunia shrugged, "lots of reasons, he might not like the idea of going all the way to Scotland to a boarding school, or leaving his family behind for all that time. He might not like their course offerings. Particularly their lack of any of the normal subjects. Other than astronomy, I believe the they have no math or science or theatre."

"Oh," said Harriet.

"And I think their animal classes don't start until third year."

"That's—" Harriet almost said 'that's not acceptable' but thought the better of it. Other than Hedwig, she didn't actually have much use for over half the familiars that her relatives kept. And the theory of animal training didn't actually appeal to her, she liked the results, she supposed, or watching the performances that could only be possible because of the results, but that was a different issue. About animal training, outside of Hedwig, she was barely more than a mundane, and with Hedwig, she wasn't much to speak of compared to several of her cousins, or any of the _Persians_.

"And there are other options on the continent, Your uncle and grandmother went to school in Slovenia, and several of the horse trainers went in France."

"I think I'd prefer Scotland," said Harriet, contemplating her grades with the French tutor, "if I can take Hedwig,"

Petunia nodded thoughtfully.

"And if I don't have to be a boy."

Petunia's eyes narrowed, "that might take a bit more acting up front,"

"In order to need less acting farther on?" said Harriet, "that sounds like the standard definition of a good cost-alleviating expense?"

Petunia nodded, "the other issue is whether you're going on Potter's Scholarship, so to speak, or if you're going as Potter's spy."

"How so?"

"If you're going as Potter, in order to be Potter's agent, that's different than going with a letter of introduction from Potter asking them to reassign his tuition accounts to your name."

"I get the business aspects, but I sense political aspects that I'm not comprehending."

"Suppose you wake up some morning with a teacher or a nurse bending over you, and wondering who in blazes you are, because you sneezed in your sleep and turned to someone else?"

"Oh," said Harriet.

"If no one except your admissions representative and your financial officer even know you have any ties to Potter, then you can appear as anyone you want, whenever you want and just be Harriet Matirni, a metamorphmagus, but if everyone knows that you are Potter, and then you stop, what are they going to think then? Of you, and of Potter."

"Yeah, I see."

"And Potter has enemies, as well as an adoring public."

"Which is why he's hiding so well I didn't even know he was around."

"Quite,"

"Will I get to meet him?"

"Probably not more than you already have."

"Oh," said Harriet, trying to hide her disappointment, Harry was a known freak of nature, reputed to have survived the killing curse or at least he survived Great Britain's last dark lord.

But then the metamorphmagus gift was also exceedingly rare, she could be her own freak of nature, whenever she wanted.

She sighed.

"Wait a second," she said, "If I don't get to meet him, how to I pretend to be him?"

"Ah," said Petunia, and shrugged, "you already look a bit like him,"

"Really?" said Harriet.

"Well," said her mother, "you look a bit like all your cousins, and he is one of them."

"Oh," said Harriet looking around, "How old is he?"

Petunia leaned forward, "His eleventh birthday is today, though we generally celebrate on a different day so that no one notices,"

"My birthday is today," said Harriet, "this is my birthday cake."

"Quite," Petunia said, "it's also his, though in a week or so when we put his name on a cake…"

Harriet had three cousins with a birthday in the next week, and any one of them might be the real live Harry Potter.

Five in the next two weeks, and all but one of them was in her grade.

One of the older O'Learys teased them that while Irish twins were siblings born within a year of each other, 'Slovenian quadruplets' were cousins born in the same month.

...

"Are any of the others … like me?"

"What?" said Petunia.

"If tuition money weren't a problem, would anyone else I know be going?"

"Oh," said Petunia, "the Patil twins, and they are going,"

"Anyone else?" said Harriet. The Patils weren't technically her cousins, thought they would run with the pack, when they weren't busy being prissy and ladylike. Apparently their Mum was the actual second-in-line-for-a-title sort of nobility, and they didn't mind acting like it on occasion.

"No, that's all."

"Alright," said Harriet. Who she _really_ wanted to take with her was Ann, but … Ann was three years older, and ran the Hathaway stage. The circus needed Ann a lot more than Harriet did.

**Severus**

Severus Snape, youngest potions master in centuries stalked into the administration wing of the magic school with the best safety rating in the world, "What is it Minerva?"

"Three children of faculty of the Matirni Travelling Circus (and squib school) accepted invitations to attend Hogwarts. Would you mind doing the needful?"

"Ah, anyone I know?" said Severus.

"You'd be the best judge of that," said Minerva handing over the letters.

"Patil, Patil, Matirni, all girls, well well well." He finished flipping through and looked up, "Any special instructions?"

"Given that all the recent special instructions for interacting with the Matirni school are written by you, no," said Minerva, "good luck,"

"Thanks," said Severus, "actually a visit like this might be the best possible investment of of a dose of Felix I can think of. Add _that _to the file." He spun on his heel and walked away.

"Oh dear," said Minerva, "Severus!"

"Yes?" he stepped backward into the room and spun to face her again.

"Look closely at the second letter that returned with the Matirni acceptance letter before you go, be prepared for _anything_, and try to find out what _really_ happened to," Minerva shrugged, "Albus will want to know. Hell, even I want to know."

Severus raised an eyebrow, then flipped back through to find the letter attached to the Matirni:

...

"Dear Headmistress MacGonagall,

I write to inform you that my ward Harry James Potter has opted to pursue his middle schooling on the continent, however in light of the family connections, and such, rather that putting his parent's school through the trouble of reimbursing his tuition, it seemed prudent for his cousin, my daughter, Harriet Matirni to take his place. If that is acceptable.

I apologies for the bother.

...

Regards,

~Petunia Matirni.

...

P.S. It is my memory that the school provides a guide or chaperone for those pupils who's immediate families are not able to provide them with access to the supplies listed in the admission letter you sent. Is that for mundanes only? Or is that available to all non-wizards? I ask because there are a few wizards around the camp, but some of them aren't of the most… reliable reputation."

...

"Then by all means," said Severus, "by all means we shall treat you as muggleborn, rather than expose your poor daughter to the chaperonage of an 'unreliable' wizard. Minerva did you _read_ this?"

"Yes, I read it," she said.

"And you didn't suggest I take Sprout or Sinistra along?"

"Sinistra is on leave, feel free to ask Sprout, but don't count on anything, you know summer is her time to mind the plants that will only grow in summer."

"And the Patils? Aren't they from a part of India where… Merlin I'm going to have to take three muggleborn girls and_ at least_ one muggle parent along with me."

Minerva sighed, and picked up a stack of letters, "Just because I can generally manage two to three pupils a day doesn't mean I expect you to also, take until the end of the week if you prefer."

She turned to the fireplace and floo'd away to someplace where she could apparate.

Grumbling mentally Severus moved in the same direction, flooing first to his office to pick up two doses of Felix Felicis, then flooing to the ministry so he could track down where the circus was camped this week.

**{End Chapter 1}**


	2. Meeting, (again?)

**{Disclaimer}**

_If you recognise it from somewhere else, then I almost certainly don__'t own it. When Harriet references characters you don't know, take it as an invitation to catch up on your Shakespeare._

_If you wish to help beta this or future works me please contact me. If you find a spelling or grammar error that takes you out of the story, feel free to tell me about it, though if it__'s inside quotes it _might _be intended as characterisation and I might choose not to fix it. I did my best to use UK spelling and phrasing over US, but assume there are lapses, if you have further suggestions regarding that I__'m open to consider them._

_If there are scenes or one liners that you would like to see with these versions of these characters in future years feel free to send me those as well, no promises. Ditto if I missed obvious allusions to Shakespeare in conversations where characters would have indulged._

_There is already at least one companion OMAKE story in progress. _

_Based on feedback I am re-releasing this in smaller sections, Thanks for the feedback. I apologise for the hyphens it seems the most effective way to keep my line breaks where they belong._

…

_This is an story about who Harry might be, in an AU that diverges before Lily and Snape go to Hogwarts. The divergence starts when Petunia is given a book called __'The Thirteen Clocks' by James Thurber. She finds the formula used by it's protagonists, "If X must be done, and cannot be done by method Y, then it must be attempted by a method not-Y," to be infinitely more useful than "If at first you don't succeed, try try again," and of course she lives too early to have heard the early 21 century buzzword version of the adage, "Fail better."_

_Because of this strategy she manages to gain Snape__'s respect and help, though not the friendship for which she had originally been jealous. With access to his research and aid she managed to gain entrance to a different magical community. A community made up of contented squibs rather than jealous ones._

_..._

_Enjoy,_

_H. Bregalad_

**Harry**

Harriet woke up, and looked at the clock. Then at the calender.

Monday. Excellent, Monday was a brewing day, Tuesday would be a rest day.

Thursday and Monday were brewing days, other days had been tried but the way weekend traffic tended to go, it was just better to restock on Monday and Thursday, the circus's other shops mostly restocked on Monday and Thursday also. Except the apothecary, it waited until after Monday's brewing was done before it tried to figure which supplies it needed to lay in.

...

Harriet washed and dressed for breakfast. Clothes that would be light enough to wear under a brewing apron and gloves.

Dee and Moit were already eating. Petunia was sitting at her place with food on her plate, but she was only paying attention to a list of the potions that needed restocking.

"Good morning," said Harriet.

"Top," said Dee and Moit without looking up from shovelling cereal into their mouths without looking what they were doing because they were busy smirking and making knowing eyes at each other. And trying not to laugh. Or something.

Harriet was glad she'd be inside helping and not outside to be targeted by whatever they had going. She just hoped the laughter stayed contained long enough that they didn't start choking and breathing milk and cereal through their noses.

...

"Good morning, dear," said Petunia, "What do you make of these two?" And she slid a photograph of two … perhaps college pupils at her.

"She looks like you, he reminds me of Royce's book of wizard nobles, … maybe the Blacks, except his hair is too straight."

"Can you make up a child of theirs?"

"Sure, anything in particular?"

"A zigzag scar,"

"How many segments, and where?"

"Huh?" Petunia finally sat up and looked at her, "three segments, like modern futhark sowilo not like old italic em, or cweorth, and it's on your forehead."

"'Kay," said Harriet, "boy or girl,"

"Boy,"

"Does this character have a name?"

"Harry James Potter,"

"Oh, These are Aunt Lily and Uncle James?" said Harriet, "does he mind me impersonating him?"

"Yes they are, and no, I don't believe he minds," said Petunia, "and if you fail to look like him to the extent that no one who meets you ever recognises him, so much the better."

"Curious," said Harriet, "ditto for mannerisms then I assume?"

"Precisely," said Petunia.

"How _big _is this part?"

"How big do you want it to be?"

"He doesn't want it back at all?" said Harriet.

"He's content with his life and his family and his fortune, and his obscurity, and whatever security that obscurity affords him."

"Got it,"

"He says you're welcome to use his name as needed to advance your career, but not his parent's money, most of which is his, a fifth of which is mine, and a fifth of which belongs to some deadbeat by the name of Remus Lupin who you may or may not ever run into."

"Complicated," said Harriet, "How much of that do I need to remember?"

"Forget it by all means, or until it becomes politically advantageous to have become informed. Just … well anyway, I believe there's a trust fund and a family fund, he only has access to the trust fund until he comes of age, and while you impersonate him, you only have access to that fund, I expect you to keep careful track of how much money you draw from his trust fund so that I can deduct it from how much I expect him to pass on to me when he comes of age."

"Oh," said Harriet, "alright. Anything else?"

"Yeah, the forehead scar is a curse scar, supposed to be unhealable so he must never appear without it."

"How … terrible would it be if I make a mistake on that?"

"Then you are by definition someone else impersonating him, which might or might not be bad, depending on whether he'd give you permission to impersonate him."

"But you said he just gave me permission to impersonate him."

"No, I mean whether the you really impersonating him would admit to whoever observed you pretending to impersonate him, that he had given you permission to pretend to impersonate him,"

"Puck," said Harriet, "that makes my head hurt more than diagramming a potion's recipe from it's colour and effects only."

Petunia shrugged, "it does take practice," and she leaned over her list again.

Harriet looked at the photo again, then took it outside to observe it better.

The woman had emerald green eyes.

_Brilliant_.

Literally even.

The hair wasn't a good colour though, well it was a fine colour but she didn't think she had much in the way of costumes that wouldn't clash horribly with it. So if she took his black hair, and her eyes, she didn't like either of their noses, so she'd keep her own, which was to say, she'd keep Mum's nose. Neither of them had a particularly cute chin, … but if she was supposed to be a _boy_. She took his chin, then she took the rest of his face, except for Lily's eyes, and she kept Mum's nose and Uncle Royce's ears. Then she thought the better of that and took his ears too, and Lily's nose.

That would have to do. And a fake curse scar.

Sowilo, _that_ wasn't foreshadowing or anything, and sort of disturbing by itself.

She shivered.

Perhaps there should have been more? Suppose she put it off centre as if it had been the first symbol of an inscription. Sowilo had a flowing changeable nature, it could speak of the currents of fate, but it also had a changeable quality, perhaps implying a threat that one could avoid by amending one's ways. As in, "should your hurt my child, may you be cursed,"

Yes, it definitely should be off centre.

She went and found her mirror and added 'Harry James Potter' to her character flash cards, and she shuffled and checked how fast she could get through her deck now.

She could become her version of Harry in about eight seconds, but it added about fifteen seconds to her overall time, she wasn't sure if it was just the concentration it took to add a character, or if it was her subconscious still bothering her about wearing sowilo on her forehead. It wasn't a bad rune. Just … not the sort of thing a sane person would choose for themselves. Maybe for their armour? Or their compass?

Never mind.

She shuffled again and flipped through. Three seconds off. Excellent, she'd be have him down to the speed she could do any of her other male characters by the end of the week.

Who would use curse cutting to permanently inscribe a rune on their forehead, on a baby's forehead. What had the _rest_ of the inscription been intended to be?

Aunt Lily was supposed to be not quite all there when it came to runes, but if she'd been in a hurry, and working with what she had available at the time? Or … what if Uncle James…

What was the _official_ explanation of his scar anyway? Babies don't normally get into fights with curses flying about, it had to be within that last fight, or immediately prior, or someone would have been asking James and Lily serious questions about their philosophy of inscribing research.

Well they had been in hiding for several months.

But no, if there had been time, the inscription would have been finished. If it wasn't a curse scar from the fight, it was an inscription that was interrupted in the process of being made.

Was it _really _a curse scar, or had it been mistaken for that because of latent power that had been placed into the rune in preparation for final activation as soon as the other runes were placed.?

**Petunia**

Severus apparated to Barnstaple and took a taxi to the fairground.

It was quiet for a circus, there would be no shows until three, which suited him fine. He used a simple four points to find his way across the field of chaotically arranged wagons fast enough that no one stopped him to ask his business.

He stopped in amazement at the side of a lorry that carried the large size of international shipping container, it smelled of rust, as all steel containers do, but beneath that…

He mounted the steps, that were constructed of aluminium grating that would never be slick even when wet, and also light enough for a single roustabout to lift in and out of the container or wherever it rode until the next stop. He knocked on the door.

"Come in Severus," said a voice muffled by the rubber gasket that came installed on such doors.

A wordless unlocking charm did nothing, so whatever the door needed counted as unlatching not unlocking.

"Harriet, Go let your godfather in,"

"What's a godfather?"

"Just let him in, we'll talk about it later."

"'Kay," the door clunked loudly and swung inward.

"Hello," said the girl.

"Greetings," said Severus.

"Prince?" said the girl.

"What?" said Severus.

"Are you related to the Prince line?"

"Yes," said Severus.

The girl's eyes shown in triumph, and shyness, and she scurried back to her mother.

"Gerardo root," said Petunia, "is it ready?"

"Yes Mum," said the girl, and put her gloves back on.

Then she picked up a small metal board and held it halfway over a glass cauldron of some sort. A moment later the colour of the bubbling liquid shifted, and they both tapped their toes in unison three beats, then they both nodded at the exact same moment and started sliding the diced root gently off the board into the cauldron, with large flat knives, that could have been meat cleavers, except they looked thin and light by comparison, more like metal spatulas.

Suddenly the potion changed again, and they both froze and the girl took the cutting tray away and swept the last few grains of root back toward the centre.

After several more seconds, the potion stopped bubbling and the mother reached down and twisted a knob to banish the flame.

"That's enough for now," said Petunia, "Go get a travelling cloak and find Potter's Hogwarts letter."

"Yes, Mum," said the girl and scurried around Severus toward the open door before stopping and looking back.

"Which cloak?"

"Any of the wool ones," said Petunia, "Why not that blue one."

"Miranda's or Titania's?"

"I was thinking Titania's."

"Yes, Mum," said the girl and dinged down the stairs before scurrying off.

...

Petunia reached above her head and turned off a grating, buzzing, humming noise. The air seemed to thicken, and Severus could smell the potion that had just finished brewing.

Assisting with third year potions and expert enough not to need verbal prompting. She was a find indeed.

Assuming she was more than a squib.

"Are the rest of your children as accomplished?" said Severus.

"The older one is not so … tractable, the younger one is not yet tall enough to help with the brewing. I will miss her assistance."

"I can imagine, does she do accidental magic,"

Petunia looked troubled, "she changes the length of her hair, it's not accidental anymore, her cousin expects her to do it on stage to control the gauzy fairy wings she wears, or other things that shouldn't move by themselves."

"On stage?" said Severus, "That is… treading dangerously close to the statute of secrecy."

"Just like selling potions as herbal remedies?" said Petunia, "I'm not sure anyone except Harriet and Ann know, the wings used to be clockwork, but the man who made them isn't around anymore. So the theatre teacher stripped the clockwork out and connected the spring strait to the wings, so she can pull them with her hair."

"Not around anymore? Got board with theatre work then."

"No, cirrhosis of liver."

"Ah,"

"Then again, that might have been a symptom of the same thing."

Severus snorted.

Petunia shrugged, and pulled out a notepad, "Do I assume correctly that, you're the Hogwarts Representative here to introduce Harriet to the Wizarding World?"

Severus could hear how many extra capitols Petunia used in that sentence. Severus sneered, "Technically no, I'm here merely to help her buy school supplies. But I'm somewhat confused. She's eleven? And does accidental magic, and well enough to _not _consider it accidental."

"Yes."

"And you didn't get an invitation to enrol her? No you wouldn't have, it would have gone strait to her, stupid prejudices."

"Correct."

"And she _didn__'t _get a letter of her own?"

"Correct again."

"Was she born on the continent, because something doesn't add up."

Petunia frowned, "she might have been, I can't say that I remember, Dee was was born in the Netherlands, and Moit was born in Slovenia at his great grandfather's."

Severus nodded and relaxed, that would do it. If he could witness a bit of accidental magic so much the better, but it wouldn't matter once they went and bought wands, or … a failure at that would be proof enough that there was no point in continuing further.

"So how have you been?" said Severus, "the travelling life _seems _to be treating you well."

Petunia grinned, "I love it, the only thing I could wish for is a little bit more stability for the children, I love seeing them work their hearts out for the show, but the report cards they bring back, the grades fluctuate so much, and I have to assume it's because the schedules of both they and their tutors are at the mercy of the exigencies of the road and of the show."

Severus nodded.

"But they're so capable and independent it makes me want to burst sometimes, well no, not _independent_, what is the word for … it's not that they do things all by themselves, but that they … when one of them sees a problem they form their peers around them into a team and go take care of it without needing to be given orders. And then three weeks later you go to check the tires or the coolant in the air conditioner and you realise that little hands have been there and fixed things and you didn't even know. It would be nice if they reported everything in the proper maintenance log books, but at least we weren't stopped by the side of the road waiting for repairs." She shrugged.

Severus stared at her, he thought that those particular maintenance issues were potentially life threatening either in scope of the catastrophe they guarded against or in the nature of the repair.

But then potion accidents could be the same.

And they didn't _let _their children do them so much as not even _notice _that their children were accomplishing them.

"I'm glad you like it here," he said, "Sorry, but I have to ask, not because I want more information than you're willing to volunteer, but because certain of my co-workers will want to hear the gossip."

Petunia raised an eyebrow in disdain.

It looked so familiar because he'd learned it from her.

"Not that most of them know enough to ask. You understand, but a small fraction of them have been informed."

"Out with it Sev, what juicy bit of gossip is this, and how much are you willing to pay for it?"

"How is Mr. Potter,"

"Ah," said Petunia, "Would —"

The sound of dashing feet, and the girl reappeared looking not quite a witch and not quite a gypsy, but definitely not a muggle.

Petunia turned back to him, "Would you like to meet him?"

_No, not really._

"That would simplify things," said Severus, "such as, it would be easier if I heard from his own mouth that he doesn't mind Harriet using his tuition,"

"Oh, that's shouldn't be a problem," said Petunia, "Harriet, go get Dee and Moit, and," she grabbed her by the wrist and brought her close enough to whisper something in her ear.

Her eyes grew big an mystified for several seconds, "Oh," she breathed, "you mean … him, alright," she straightened.

"Actually, wait a moment," said Petunia, "Severus would you like a bite to eat, before you go?"

"No, no," said Severus, "I expect this to take all morning, all morning and half the afternoon if I can convince the Patils to accompany us. We'll stop for a bite in Diagon if we aren't back before lunch."

"Alright," said Petunia and turned back to Harriet, "go collect them and send them here, then go see if your uncle Royce will lend you his wand for fifteen minutes."

"He won't," said Harriet.

"Ask him anyway," said Petunia, "and wait on his doorstep until he lets you, or until I send word that there's no time left."

"Alright," said Harriet sullenly and left.

What was _that_ about? And who would lend their wand and who… was she getting under the table wand lessons? From her uncle? From a book and not quite outside her uncle's supervision? Or was her mother trying to finagle them for her knowingly or unknowingly against the law? No wonder he was 'notoriously reluctant' to lend his wand, even if Harriet was the image of responsibility. Petunia had tried to get herself into Hogwarts just under two decades ago. Was she trying the same thing again for her daughter. He'd have to be doubly on his guard for evidence whether she were a witch and not another squib like her mother

Several minutes later two boys trooped in, one with short wavy black hair and one with slightly longer brown curls, both with chubby cheeks, both in white shirts and blue britches, but their waistcoats didn't match, one was green and one was red. The tradition eastern European image of children: cute and in cute colours, but the clothes were the exact same cut as what their parents might wear.

"Hello, mum," they said. The short one tilted his head back and back to catch sight of Severus looming behind him, albeit an upside down view. But he lost his nerve as soon as he noticed Severus observing him and looked back at his mother. Lucky that the cheeky thing didn't fall over or get dizzy.

The other kept facing his mother, waiting for orders or…

"Hello, children, this is your Uncle Severus Snape. He's a teacher at Hogwarts, the school where your sister will be attending."

"Oh," said the older, turning to offer Severus his hand.

"Who's he related to?" said the little one, trying to copy his brother, but not paying enough attention to not loose his train of thought when it was impossible for him to shake Severus' hand at the exact moment that his brother was shaking hands.

"He was a good friend of your Aunt Lily and I," said Petunia, "A close enough friend that you may call him Uncle, even if he never married either of us. And he's Harriet's godfather."

"What's a godfather," said the little one.

"I'll explain it tomorrow," said Petunia.

Another boy came in, a hand shorter than the taller boy, his waistcoat and britches were black, and he had rather a sever face, and messy black hair. He came right in and turned to face Severus, "Harriet said you wished to see me, sir"

Severus glared back at him, There was no doubt who his parents were. But who in hell (or possibly outside) it had been raising him? Severus gave a quick nod, and wondered how to present himself. To … a child Abraxes Malfoy, who wore Potter's face. Maybe it _would _be better he didn't attend Hogwarts just now, in more ways than Severus had at first imagined. He'd spent a decade dreaming of being able to grind that face into the pavement, but with Lily's eyes, he might not have the heart, and with the elder Malfoy's demeanour, he might not have the guts. And the child looked used to a firm hand. Would he be off balance and collapse without it, or would he fill up the vacuum with his own ambitions.

Severus turned away and grabbed the Hogwarts Letter off the counter-top, "Have you seen this?" said Severus.

Potter scanned it quickly, "No, where did you get it?" he looked annoyed and perhaps frightened though he hid that almost well enough. Probably well enough for someone who didn't hang out with politicians and death eaters.

"Your cousin was waltzing around with it earlier, I was wanting to make sure that you had turned it down before I let her make free with what your parents paid for."

"Oh," he looked relieved, "Yeah that's fine, her parents and uncle are paying for my schooling so she can use mine, it's just that—" he marched over to lay it down on a cutting board and where he caught up a small potions knife to cut off the top quarter of the sheet, and held the small piece in the flame keeping under another cauldron at a slow simmer.

He brought the remainder back to Severus, "there, I don't mind her waving _that _around,"

Severus looked at what was left, the Hogwarts letterhead was missing, as was his name, the rest was still perfectly legible.

Prudence attempting to approach Alistor's. Fine.

"I think I see," said Severus, "ought I report to the headmaster that it would be pointless to mount a search for you, based solely on your birth name?"

Potter grinned like a shark, "Nor my birth day, nor the address of my next of kin, and we'll be paying cash,"

Severus raised an eyebrow, and nodded.

His grin faded and he stood up straighter, "is there anything else, sir?"

"I admit myself impressed," said Severus, "if your advisers pay as much attention to honing your skills in magic as they seem to in prudence, you should find that you and your skills are valued by a great many people by the time you graduate."

Potter nodded, and glanced at Petunia.

Petunia smirked, "Of course we value your skills _now_," she whispered, "but it is normal to attempt to continue to acquire more value as you become and adult."

Potter nodded and shrugged at the same time, "I meant, is there anything else, Madam Solanaceae?"

She raised a finger to indicate he wait a moment,

"Severus, do you know what happened to the key to his trust vault?"

"As it happens," said Severus, and he pulled it out of his pocket and he held it out half way between them.

Petunia nodded for Potter to take it, he complied and shivered.

_Yep, it was his key alright._

He stuffed it in his pocket and wiped his hand on his waistcoat.

"That's all," said Petunia, "Harriet is probably sitting on the steps of Royce's workshop waiting for a chance to borrow his wand. If you find her there, send her back here."

He nodded, and stalked out.

Petunia sighed. As one, she and Severus turned to catch sight of a little hand raised with what might be only a blade of grass dangling out toward medium cauldron of who knew what. Petunia reacted fastest, "oi children. Out. Out out out."

"Aw Mum," said the little one waiting to be hand led out the door, but the big one hurried out.

Severus was almost certain he'd absconded with a potions knife and half a stalk of Rheum Palmatum. Perhaps he had a bee sting to cure or anticipated such. But Severus would have wagered distilling it for Essence for the Inducement of Hiccups would be more in keeping with his estimate of the child's interests and attention span.

He hid a smirk and waited for Petunia to order them to go find something _productive _to do. And then check all her potions to make sure none of them had been spiked.

"Is there anything else?" said Petunia, "do you want directions to the Patil's wagon? Though they're probably over at the corral actually."

Severus took a breath, but before he could speak she went on.

"Are you sure you don't want something to drink?"

"Water would be fine," he said, wanting to rebuke her for offering anyone anything to ingest in her potions lab. Instead he said, "I still have to wait here for Harriet to return,"

"Ah, right." She bustled outside and returned with clear plastic cups and a pitcher of water.

Severus smelled it carefully before he drank. But he recognised the smell of city water from this part of the country much too well to be worried after that.

They drank in silence for a few minutes more before Harriet returned looking hot and bothered. "No wand," she informed breathlessly, She glanced longingly at his glass of water. He reached for his wand.

But she was already looking away, first at the pitcher and the counter-top around it. "Did you see my Hogwarts letter?"

"Your Uncle Severus has it," said Petunia.

She turned to him.

He cast a cooling charm at her. She grinned. "Uncle Severus?"

"You should probably get in the habit of calling me Professor Snape," he said, "Yes, I have your letter." He realised that his hands were full.

He tossed off his water so he could put the cup down and go through his pockets for the letter. He noticed that she made a face as if she weren't sure where the trade off was between enforcing the rule separating potions and table utensils, and the rule about not reprimanding guests. Or how to interpret the fact that there was vary obviously a water pitcher already on the same counter.

He passed her the letter. She looked down at it and examined the damaged done to it, and she looked up again questioningly.

"Potter didn't want his name associated with you by anyone who didn't need to know the two of you might be spending summers in the same place.

She nodded and refolded the letter until it would fit in her pocket.

He cast a scrubbing charm at the cup, then the duplicating charm, and finally conjured water into both glasses.

Her eyes went wide.

He handed her one.

She sniffed it carefully and watched him begin to sip his.

She tasted it and her eyes went wide again. "Is it distilled then, sir? out of the air?"

He smirked, "excellent surmise," _and that would have been two points to your house._

She grinned and put her hand up.

He blinked.

She shrugged and put her hand down, "Sorry, every time Da says something like 'excellent surmise' he wants me to give him a high five."

"Ah," he said, "you'll want to suppress _that _habit, your professors aren't going to high five you, and you'll probably only get high fives from your classmates if you were awarded the points together, or if you're in hufflepuff."

"Where's hufflepuff?"

"It's one of the dorms," said Severus, "named after one of the founders of Hogwarts, the other three dorms are slytherin, ravenclaw and gryffindor."

"Oh," said Harriet, "Which dorms are the girl dorms?"

He opened his mouth, and shut it again.

He would never get used to muggleborns. And here she was doing third year potions and no idea about Hogwarts, what a mess.

He really needed to get a copy of Minerva's standard muggleborn speech and rearrange it specifically for pupils from the Matirni Travelling Circus.

Though it sounded like there wouldn't be any others for another several years.

Which is exactly what he thought last time. What? Six years ago? Which is why he hadn't done much about it last time either.

"Nothing so simple. Each dorm is split in half, and has a girls side and a boys side," said Snape, It wasn't quite that simple, there were single rooms that parents could petition for, and in some dorms they were centrally located instead of at the ends of the other wings. but it was close enough an explanation for now. "Now, as soon as you finish that, we'll go and find the Patil twins."

Her eyes brightened. And she turned toward the door. "I can walk and drink at the same time," she said.

"You say that as if there's a question in your mind,"

"Are we walking to find the Patil twins, or running?"

"My preference is stride rapidly," said Severus, "especially imposing with the right sort of robes on."

"Ooh," she said.

"You may need to put on several inches before the technique would work for you." He said.

"I could probably put wires in my cloak so the corners flip out properly." She said.

"I'm sure you could, levitation charms and breeze charms are also commonly used."

He could see her taking mental notes of more things she wanted to learn as _soon _as possible.

"How about," he said casting a critical eye at how close her waist was to the floor, "I stride rapidly and you walk or run as necessary to keep up and lead me in the right direction?"

"You're such a _grown up_," she muttered, "Alright," she said brightly and headed for the door.

She was so easy to read, he didn't need legilimency. He wondered if she whispered all her thoughts aloud for a particular reason.

...

As they crossed the fairgrounds and he watched her interact with her cousins and other acquaintances he began to wonder if they all were always broadcasting their states of mind as some odd form of simulated telepathy and group mind.

It was such a hufflepuff concept that he wondered if she'd be able to even survive anywhere else.

And yet, her brother had absconded with a knife and potions ingredients, her cousin, the vaunted Harry Potter had seemed … a weapons master carrying no weapon. Sheathed in secrecy? _There _was a puzzle worthy of Albus.

That was fine, here was Petunia's daughter, apparently intended to be his god-daughter, though why he wasn't informed or even asked about that years ago made him wonder. Perhaps they were Anabaptist and didn't bother with a godparent until twelve? He didn't know much about modern Ana-baptists. Or about what godparents did in muggle culture. He ought to find a magical guardianship form and see if Petunia wanted put him or the mysterious Uncle Royce on it.

And here she was swimming through a tide of children who … knew her by voice and didn't even bother glancing at her. Though they knew he didn't belong, but when she said he was Professor Snape from her new school, they eyed him with distrust, when she mentioned he was also her uncle, they lost interest.

In the next crowd she attempted an optimisation to the conversation by mentioned he was her uncle, and they wanted to know all the history that connected them. And she said he was really just a step-uncle on her mum's side, and the only reason he came by was because he was going to be her professor at her new school. And they were back to … Jealousy.

And not jealousy of her chance to go to a different school.

No, Jealousy of the school that would acquire her company.

It was gratifying to be offered a pupil that was so _sought after_. But then, Lily had been the same way, at least as far as her sister Petunia was concerned.

**{End Chapter 2}**


	3. Wands

**{Disclaimer}**

_If you recognise it from somewhere else, then I almost certainly don__'t own it. When Harriet references characters you don't know, take it as an invitation to catch up on your Shakespeare._

_If you wish to help beta this or future works me please contact me. If you find a spelling or grammar error that takes you out of the story, feel free to tell me about it, though if it__'s inside quotes it _might _be intended as characterisation and I might choose not to fix it. I did my best to use UK spelling and phrasing over US, but assume there are lapses, if you have further suggestions regarding that I__'m open to consider them._

_If there are scenes or one liners that you would like to see with these versions of these characters in future years feel free to send me those as well, no promises. Ditto if I missed obvious allusions to Shakespeare in conversations where characters would have indulged._

_There is already at least one companion OMAKE story in progress. _

_Based on feedback I am re-releasing this in smaller sections, Thanks for the feedback. I apologise for the hyphens it seems the most effective way to keep my line breaks where they belong._

…

_This is an story about who Harry might be, in an AU that diverges before Lily and Snape go to Hogwarts. The divergence starts when Petunia is given a book called __'The Thirteen Clocks' by James Thurber. She finds the formula used by it's protagonists, "If X must be done, and cannot be done by method Y, then it must be attempted by a method not-Y," to be infinitely more useful than "If at first you don't succeed, try try again," and of course she lives too early to have heard the early 21 century buzzword version of the adage, "Fail better."_

_Because of this strategy she manages to gain Snape__'s respect and help, though not the friendship for which she had originally been jealous. With access to his research and aid she managed to gain entrance to a different magical community. A community made up of contented squibs rather than jealous ones._

_..._

_Enjoy,_

_H. Bregalad_

**Padma at Olivanders**

"Mr. Patil is over there with Nations' Peace, the horse with the green crest," Harriet's voice cut through the muffled thunder of hooves on sand as if she weren't aware she wasn't still on stage.

Padma looked up from her book to see who was pointing. But Harriet was wearing her own face for once. Which had to mean something interesting. The cloak looked a bit on the warm side for this weather. Which also should mean something interesting.

_Actually the cloak looked familiar, from yesterday__'s play perhaps? No, wonder she was confused about whether she was on stage._

_Then again, if she__'s trying to talk to the stranger in black robes, over this din… Who is he anyway?_

He replied something she couldn't catch, but she could see Harriet's expression change and her chest heave as she barked out, "Mr. Patil: Paul, Parvati, and Padma, the professor from Hogwarts is here."

She knew _that_ had caught Parvati by surprise, but she didn't flinch in the slightest. Neither had any of the cantering horses or many of the performers checking their paces.

Which was good, considering that Parvati was standing on one foot on Silver Moon's Ray with her other toe lifted to point forward, and her head angled down and just past backward. And a few of the performers were in even more precarious positions.

If there were one voice that the animals were more used to hearing during their performances than their trainers or the ring master, it would probably be Harriet.

And if they did hear her during one of their performances, it would also be during one of her own. Generally that would be Hamlet senior or Ophelia … or Prospero. The rest of the time she didn't need to be that loud, or project from the top of her tower.

Padma put her book away, but didn't move toward the mismatched pair until Silver Moon's Ray cantered around again closer to the fence this time, and Parvati sprung off and landed smoothly on a post with her hands out and sweeping a gentle arc, controlling every aspect of her balance.

Padma smirked, mirroring Parvati's satisfaction with a perfect improvised landing.

Parvati hopped down, using a different sweep of her arms to soften a landing from height, rather than a landing from speed.

By the time she'd gracefully resumed a standing posture, Padma was right behind her and they walked together to the gate of the corral. Where their father was exiting, and Harriet and the man in only black were striding up.

"Well," said Mr. Patil, "I was going to say something about you being out of place in only black, but perhaps it is Parvati that is out of place because her riding boots don't match the rest of her clothes."

Parvati glanced down at her bright red riding bloomers, and knee high white riding boots, and then sideways at Padma in solid grey.

Padma shrugged. Parvati shrugged.

They'd have been in saris if they'd been warned that they ought to match.

The stranger made a half apology about not knowing if Paul or Rajeeta were planning to accompany them to London.

Paul politely rejected the necessity of such an apology, probably because the half apology was just too poorly constructed to be meaningfully accepted, _and_ because the Patils were not in a good position to reject his help.

...

A moment later Rajeeta appeared and the man in black finally introduced himself as Professor Snape, who happened to be the potions professor, and an old friend of Harriet's Mother's family. Then he pulled out a loop of rope and said, "Alright, everyone who's coming shopping, Grab on."

Everyone grabbed on, and he said, "Activate,"

And almost a second of unnerving sensations later, everyone was in a deserted street, "Alright look around," he said again, "there's a pub called the leaky cauldron, can everyone see it?"

The group obeyed, it appeared that everyone could see it.

"We're going into the Pub and out the back, I will tap my wand on the bricks of the wall, once you have a wand, you'll be able to come here and use the same pattern to get in whenever you have shopping to do in Diagon Ally."

Professor led them through and took up and odd stance that let everyone see which bricks he tapped, and the wall morphed into an archway. Or perhaps, the wall stayed where it was and space stretched and shifted so that there was enough space to walk straight through without passing through the space in which the bricks existed.

Everyone hurried through before the space returned to it's normal configuration.

"Does anyone _not _need to visit the bank for currency exchange or withdraw?"

Padma and Parvati looked at their father. Harriet rubbed her pocket. Everyone shook their heads.

"To the bank it is then," said Professor Snape and began to lead the way, while he walked he lectured, "It is the tall white building ahead on the left, it is run by goblins, Gringotts is the only safe transnational bank in the wizarding world, there are several other good banks but they are all local establishments, Gringotts is transnational, because it is also a department of the government of the goblin nation, the main purpose of every Gringotts branch, is its embassy, not its vaults. The goblin nation is the only magical race that has both formed a structured society and has organised into a single nation. Treat them with proper respect."

Paul nodded along politely with the information. Padma had heard a portion of the same information from one of her younger uncles on one of those rare visits home, though he had couched the information as a fairy tail. Back when no one was yet sure how much power was still left in Paul's line.

...

The professor led the way inside and stood in the centre of the lobby and waved the others to choose a line.

Patil Paul chose a line under a sign that said 'exchange' the rest of the family fallowed him. Except Padma, who saw no point in standing in line to watch her father transact business. She pulled out her book and found a spot to stand, near enough the professor that any traffic going past would sort them as the same obstacle, and far enough apart that any careful observer would not make faulty assumptions about how close they were allied.

Harriet hung back and fiddling with a check-book, and whispered to the professor, "how much am I likely to need for supplies today?"

"Seventy five galleons is enough for most new pupils," he said, "two hundred or more might be necessary if you're also buying luxuries like dress robes or flying brooms, none of which you're likely to need your first year. In fact bringing a personal broom is—"

"Is forbidden for first year pupils," finished Harriet with him.

"Alright," she continued, "how much should I budget for spending money throughout the school year?"

"You are not permitted to leave the school for shopping trips in Hogsmead until third year, you shouldn't need any unless you find yourself in need of hiring your fellow pupils for tasks you are unwilling to do yourself."

"Like homework?" said Harriet, "doesn't that negate the point of going to school?"

"One would think," said the professor, "I meant, there are a few pupils in every year who want their clothes or bedding washed a bit more often than the house elves get around to it."

"Is that common?" said Harriet, "more to the point, is it necessary?"

"In a word, very rarely," said the professor, "though perhaps if you mastered the requisite cleaning charms you could pick up a few sickles here and there. Though you'd probably make more with the hangover cure potion."

"Dear God," said Harriet.

"We tend to invoke Merlin," said the professor.

"Does he answer?"

"He has not in about a millennium," said the professor, "which _is _perhaps the _point_,"

"Oh," said Harriet with a shiver. And turned toward a line marked 'withdraw'

...

Twenty minutes and almost a chapter later they were back on the street headed toward a shop called Ollivanders, to buy wands. The entire point of leaving one magic school, was going to another that covered wands and wand use. And so, they must have wands.

Parvati put herself forward, of course, so Padma stood back and watched, in case the process needed note taking of some sort.

First there was writhing a measuring tape that reminded Padma of snakes, but somehow did not interest Harriet in the least, she walked the perimeter of the shop looking forlorn or something.

Then Ollivander began bringing boxes over and opening them one by one and holding them out to Parvati. Parvati would pick up the wand, and sometimes after half a second, and sometimes after eight or ten, Ollivander would snatch it away, with a muttered, "no. No, I guess not." And go after the next box.

Harriet had stopped wandering and was standing in a little niche in the corner where two counters came together at a indefinable angle because a support pillar behind one of them kept it from being placed in proper alignment with the others.

Padma saw Ollivander smile knowingly at Harriet, and was sure that Ollivander knew why she'd decided to stand right there.

After another trip past that section of shelves Ollivander took three boxes off the shelf and dropped them near Harriet, "Try those, dear."

Then he rushed away to grab some more and brought them to Parvati.

Harriet reached into the first box.

"No dear, try the next." Yelled Ollivander from the far side of the shop.

Harriet stared at him for several seconds.

"Next, one," yelled Ollivander and made a jump-over-to-the-next motion with his hand as if she might be hard of hearing.

Harriet shrugged and closed the box, and opened the next.

Parvati squeaked, Padma turned around to see several sparks drift across the room from where Parvati was standing.

"Well well," said Ollivander, "I was right, now we just need to find your length," and he shoved all the boxes aside and ran back to the shelf where he'd pulled the last group of boxes.

He grabbed twelve, all from the exact shelf that he'd taken from last time and brought them to Parvati. The second one he gave her made showers and showers of sparks.

"And there you have it," said Ollivander, "Unicorn hair in ash, somewhat springy, a good all purpose combination."

Then he yelled across the shop, "That's enough, put that one back in the box too,"

"But I can make _sparks_," said Harriet.

"And what colour are they?"

Silence, while everyone looked at her and she swished the wand some more. Padma didn't _see _any sparks.

"I couldn't really say," she said.

"You're working too hard in any case," he said, "but it's probably the right length. Put it back, we'll find you one the fits _you_."

"Alright," she said dejectedly and put the wand back.

"How about you young lady," Ollivander said staring at Padma, "Are you going to wander until you feel a pull, or try the wands that almost matched your sister, or sit like a princess and wait for me to bring specimens for you to examine?"

"What do you prefer?" said Padma.

"Ah, Ah, Ah," said Ollivander, "What do you prefer?"

"I want to sit until you're done with her, and then come with you and swish whatever you tell me to swish, while you also explain why you pick out the stack of specimens for me that you do."

"No," said Ollivander, "I'll explain after, if you still care. Not before and not during. It works better if you're concentrating on the wand, not on learning my filing system."

"Alright," said Padma.

And he turned and went over to Harriet, and started pulling more boxes down from near where he'd gotten the other three he'd given her to try.

She tried them all, usually putting them back in their boxes without prompting. Though now and then after she put one back in the its box she'd slide the box under her left hand, pushing away the previous box that had been under her left hand.

Padma didn't know what Ollivander was doing, but she could tell what Harriet was doing. She was keeping track of the one she liked best so far, just in case Ollivander didn't find a better one.

"Padma," said her mother, "why don't you do what he said and try the wands that were close to correct for your sister."

Padma obeyed of course. And given that anyone could use Harriet's bookmarking technique, she had no objection to starting the process without Ollivander watching. If she kept out the better choices, perhaps it wouldn't be wasted time.

Several of the wands felt 'alive?' in her hand, but none made sparks. She made it through all four stacks before she found one that she thought had made a spark but it didn't … feel alive.

...

She put the three that she'd sort of liked in a pile at the end and turned back around. Harriet had two boxes under hand and seemed to be waiting for Ollivander to make another suggestion.

He picked up her two boxes and read the labels, "Dragon heart string, Pine, and dragon heart string, fir, both eleven inches. Did we even check whether dragon heart string was the best core for you, or did I let you lead me astray by standing here?"

Harriet shrugged.

Ollivander made a circuit of the whole store pulling out several boxes at a time and bringing them all back to place in front of Harriet. She tried them one by one getting no sparks from any of them.

Padma still hadn't figured out much about Ollivander's wand finding technique, but she was certain she saw the exact moment his expression changed from annoyance to an interested mystification.

"Wait here," he said as if she hadn't been doing that for half an hour. Then he made his way quickly out the door into the back room. A moment later he was back with a box with a red label.

He opened it and held it out to her like it was some sort of treasure.

When she picked it up it made several sparks, mostly red and green. Her face soured and the tendons in her neck tightened. The sparks stopped and she held it out toward Ollivander and dropped it back in the box.

"No," she croaked, "not that one,"

"You made sparks," squeaked Parvati.

"That's not all it does," Harriet said a little more like normal voice, "I don't want that one."

"Really," said Ollivander in a careful monotone, "would you like to explain why?"

"It's familiar," said Harriet, "I don't know how or why, but not familiar in a good way, I don't want it."

"But it didn't … hurt you?" said Ollivander.

"No, not exactly just the feeling of bad … memories, why?" said Harriet.

"It's phoenix tail feather," said Ollivander, "Only the blackest of witches are hurt by phoenix exposure, but you seem to be describing something different." He looked around the room as if to verify something. Something other than the fact that Padma had reached the end of her stack and was standing nearby, ostensibly bored.

"Hmm," said Harriet, and looked at the wand some more, but she made no move to touch it again.

"Alright," said Ollivander, "but perhaps it should be something similar." He took it in back and came back with three more with red labels. None of them seemed to fit Harriet.

"Perhaps something else exotic, but sticking with the softwood theme."

He frowned and bent down under the counter and pulled out twelve boxes that must have been right _at _Harriet's feet.

He put them on the counter and sorted through the three black boxes and opened one. From the way it folded and the click it made on the counter Padma guessed that it was ebony instead of paperboard

"Try this one."

Harriet picked up the wand and shook it, "Nope," she said and put it back in the box.

There were two green boxes and the rest were blue, Ollivander sorted them all out and seemed surprised by something about one of the green boxes. In any case it and two of the blue were pushed across the table to Harriet.

She opened the green box first, when she touched it she said, "Hmm," and she _kept_ humming as she slid her hand carefully around it and pulled it gently from the box.

The tip left a fine line of sparks in the air. No shooting, no falling to the ground or rising to the ceiling, just a fine line tracing wherever she moved it.

She wrote her initials in the air.

"Curious," said Ollivander, "would you care to try the other two?"

"No thanks," she said brightly her focus staying closely on the wand in her hand.

"I really must insist you at least touch them," he said.

"I really really couldn't do that," said Harriet, "sorry to disappoint you," and she turned away her total concentration seemed to be focused on the trail of sparks left in the air by her every accidental and intentional motion with the wand.

"Would you like to explain why?" said Ollivander, "I really did intend you to only try that one if neither of the others suited you."

"I'm not sure how to explain," said Harriet then her mouth dropped open and her face turning red. Perhaps she could explain after all.

"Why does it matter," said the professor. _So he wasn__'t useless after all._

"It's bloody damn expensive is all," said Ollivander, "Also professional curiosity."

"How expensive?" said the professor and Harriet at the same time.

"Eighty Galleons," said Ollivander.

Harriet shivered and cradled the wand close to her chest.

"Thirty five," said Snape.

"I ought to be charging over one twenty," snapped Ollivander, "but … she's got a pretty face."

The professor snatched up the green box and studied the label.

And _he_ shivered and put it down, "Try the other two," he croaked.

"Don't _say_ that," said Harriet, "I'll pay eighty, it's fine."

"Harriet Matirni, try the other two wands,"

"Stop saying that, Uncle Severus," said Harriet, "if you _knew _you wouldn't say that, you wouldn't even think it."

"If I knew what?" said the professor.

"If you had three sons," said Harriet, "and you found me sl— snogging one of them, would you insist I try the other two?"

Paul turned his back on the conversation and Rajeeta turned and stalked toward the door, throwing her arms out to the sides as if to catch both her daughters and lead them out also, but neither of them were withing reach.

"No," said Ollivander and the Professor together.

"No, I wouldn't even think it," agreed the professor, "pay for your wand."

She started counting coins onto the counter in stacks of ten.

Padma wondered how many she'd actually been carrying, and after Professor Snape had recommended that only 75 would be necessary.

While she counted Ollivander put the eleven colourful boxes back under the counter, and started stuffing white boxes back onto the shelves. Apparently there was a fairly strict order to them. Which made sense given how fast he seemed to find the boxes he wanted to pull off the shelf.

Padma suddenly realised that Harriet was counting so slowly because she was using only her left hand; her right hand was still clutched around the wand.

"You could put it in your pocket and use two hands," whispered Padma.

Harriet shook her head, then shrugged and said, "I'm done anyway,"

Ollivander turned his attention to the counter, and swept the piles of galleons off the counter into a leather bag he had handy, the coins dropped in without making a sound. There was probably something interesting about that bag.

"Chimera tail sinew, holly wood, 11 inches, nice and supple," said Ollivander handing Harriet the box, "perfect for healing, also powerful for shields of various types. Protect it well and it will protect you."

Harriet grinned hard enough that it made her vibrate.

...

Ollivander turned to Padma and motioned for the three boxes she had under her arm.

Padma handed them over. He glanced at the labels and held them apart, two separated from one.

"Tell me about them?" he said.

"Two felt … alive but didn't do anything, one gave me a spark, I think, or maybe three."

"Yes, yes, Of course," he said, "Colour?"

"Yellow,"

He nodded and looked at the boxes again, and put them down. He turned back to the shelf and ran his hand down a row of boxes until he found one he liked the looks of and pulled it out from under about six more and handed it to her.

She opened it and drew out the wand, but she didn't need to do that much, she knew as soon as she touched it.

She grinned, she had a wand.

_It should look as magical as it feels_, she thought, and there was a fountain of sparks.

_That__'s enough_, she thought, and they stopped.

_There should be lots of sparks that all stay at the end of my wand_, she thought, _even when I wave it around_. It sort of did that, and sort of felt like it was getting ready to do something else. "Why won't it light," she whispered wanting it harder.

When she said 'light' all the sparks she'd wanted all popped out the end of her wand and started orbiting the tip so fast she mostly couldn't see them.

"Ha," she said. They also seemed to change from sparks of sparky-ness into sparks of making the light she'd wanted.

"I'm not the charms professor," said Snape, "but that's _not_ a proper lumos charm, it doesn't shine out the end properly."

"I didn't do 'lumos'," said Padma, "I did 'light', how do I turn it off?"

"Either you stop casting the charm, or you use the appropriate finishing charm, which has the incantation of 'finite' or 'finite incantatem' depending on the spell you're working with. Then again many light related spells have 'nox' for their finishing spell."

"Oh," said Padma and thought, _that__'s enough, it's time that ended, finite. _"Finite!"

The sparks changed from rapidly orbiting light sparks to almost nothing sparks and slid away into the distance, or perhaps they evaporated.

...

By that time Paul had finished paying for his daughter's wands and they all made their way toward the door.

"Wait," said Padma and turned back, "How did you find my wand?"

"The wand chooses the witch," said Olivander, "even after I do all my fancy sorting to keep you from needing to try the whole store one by one."

"Tell me how your fancy sorting works anyway?"

"Unicorn hair cores are over there, dragon heart string cores are over here, most of the feather cores are over there. Each shelf is a different wood, each column is a different length, well … within reason.

"The more exotic cores are under the counters, or in back, depending cost and on whether I'm selling them on consignment or whatever."

"So how did you find mine so fast?"

"Those three that almost worked for you," he said, "Yours is the same wood and length as your sister, which is common for twins, but they have different cores."

**{End Chapter 3}**


	4. Draco, bored enough to attempt his duty

**{Disclaimer}**

_If you recognise it from somewhere else, then I almost certainly don__'t own it. When Harriet references characters you don't know, take it as an invitation to catch up on your Shakespeare._

_If you wish to help beta this or future works me please contact me. If you find a spelling or grammar error that takes you out of the story, feel free to tell me about it, though if it__'s inside quotes it _might _be intended as characterisation and I might choose not to fix it. I did my best to use UK spelling and phrasing over US, but assume there are lapses, if you have further suggestions regarding that I__'m open to consider them._

_If there are scenes or one liners that you would like to see with these versions of these characters in future years feel free to send me those as well, no promises. Ditto if I missed obvious allusions to Shakespeare in conversations where characters would have indulged._

_There is already at least one companion OMAKE story in progress. _

_Based on feedback I am re-releasing this in smaller sections, Thanks for the feedback. I apologise for the hyphens it seems the most effective way to keep my line breaks where they belong._

…

_This is an story about who Harry might be, in an AU that diverges before Lily and Snape go to Hogwarts. The divergence starts when Petunia is given a book called __'The Thirteen Clocks' by James Thurber. She finds the formula used by it's protagonists, "If X must be done, and cannot be done by method Y, then it must be attempted by a method not-Y," to be infinitely more useful than "If at first you don't succeed, try try again," and of course she lives too early to have heard the early 21 century buzzword version of the adage, "Fail better."_

_Because of this strategy she manages to gain Snape__'s respect and help, though not the friendship for which she had originally been jealous. With access to his research and aid she managed to gain entrance to a different magical community. A community made up of contented squibs rather than jealous ones._

_..._

_Enjoy,_

_H. Bregalad_

**Draco at Malkin's**

Draco had worked hard to make sure that he knew his parents' wishes; especially his father's wishes regarding his clothes. He knew them well enough that no unfortunate misunderstandings should occur. And he'd taken notes, and rearranged them in a logical progression. And copied them out in his own hand, so there would be no confusion on the part of the seamstresses about which notes were his own wishes and which requirements were his fathers.

At home all three of them had negotiated all of them, and Draco was properly acting as his own agent representing the interests of the family.

Because, after all, how he looked in front of the public reflected on the family just as much as if he had a hand in it as if he didn't.

It had started out as a bit of a homework assignment, but Draco had taken it much farther. And his parents had let him.

...

And it wasn't as if he'd never gone with them to buy custom tailored clothes before. He knew what needed to happen. He knew what sort of schedule everything ought to take. He'd even known most of the terms describing the design and construction of clothes that would be needed, even before he started.

...

And now here he was, being measured by one of Madam Malkin assistants, while Madam Malkin herself studied his notes and asked him questions to verify that she understood what he'd written.

And so far she'd mostly made appreciative noises and approving nods.

It was a heady feeling, realising that the extra homework you did is already paying off, and will continue.

Actually, the thing she'd done the most of while reading his notes, was making notes of her own, and measurement charts. The measurement charts she passed on to the shop girl who was tending the measuring tapes that were wound around him in all of the usual places, and a few he hadn't remembered being needed before.

...

The bell rang as a large party trooped in, Draco had tried to place himself where he'd be able to see the door, without being in immediate evidence. It had only sort of worked. And of course the shop girl had felt free to direct him to stand any way she pleased. And then ordered him not to move, not even his head.

So from where he stood now he could see the heads of three adults a dark skinned blond in green, a dark skinned black haired woman in a muted orange, and a light skinned, black haired man in a black robe.

They talked in lowered voices, casting eyes to the left of the door. To all appearances keeping their eyes on things moving among the mommets and fashion samples.

He tried to twist his eyes to the side without turning his head or ruining his posture.

...

Gradually they made their way deeper into the shop and he caught glimpses of what they were wearing, and of the children wandering among the racks and samples. Fairly unusual clothing, perhaps muggles. Or perhaps they were disguised as muggles, or thought they were. Their disguises weren't very good, at least not as far as he was aware of muggle fashion. Conversely their costumes seemed too well put together for something thrown together last moment because the floo was down or whatever and they needed to pass for muggles. Perhaps they weren't tourists from the continent.

...

The child in auror's-red, and fancy white boots intermittently squealed in excitement over all the fashion samples or the fabric samples or even the colours.

The one in grey shadowed her. Draco's first impressions was 'Bodyguard!' He'd seen the way his father's bodyguards flanked him. And he'd seen others practising to do the same.

But this girl, for now he could see that all three of them had their hair up in a most becoming manner, had pockets that bulged with books and notepads. A personal assistant then? Were they child actresses?

A personal assistant would be so much more useful than a bodyguard. But if he asked for one, or more likely hinted at the possibility as subtly as he could manage, his father would only sneer and ask him how his perfect recall exercises were progressing.

Because after all, the fewer people who knew your secret, the less it would spread. The fewer people who needed to know a plan, the less chance of your rivals of hearing about it too soon. The fewer people who knew your schedule, the less chance of an ambush.

The focus of the three adults suddenly turned inward, and they seemed to be negotiating something in low tones. And the mannerism of the man with black hair reminded Draco of his godfather, Uncle Severus. He almost turned his head so he could check properly instead of this straining his eyes toward the edge of their range.

The last girl noticed the change also, and stood on her toes to see above the racks and glance around the shop whole shop. Noticing him, and Madam Malkin.

She seemed independent of the other two, or he was making an assumption based on her skin colour. Nor did she seem much inclined to wait upon the direction of the adults. Perhaps even taking over the guard roll when their attention was pulled inward? Was she trusted to be her own agent then, just like Draco? Or at least confident that she should be. Perhaps she was taking their temporary distraction as a chance to act while unsupervised.

...

She turned and came his way, stopping about a yard away, watching the measuring process with interest.

Was she judging how much longer before she could get assistance, or … was it her first time here?

"Watch out, dear," said the shop girl and scuttled sideways, intent on her work.

"No problem," said the girl in blue, backing up a step, then returning to her place as soon as the shop girl had moved around to Draco's side.

It was an angled that gave her a better view of the size chart that the assistant was filling in.

She took a long time to examine it.

So she knew something about clothes also? Perhaps even more than the girl in white boots was giving evidence of.

Finally she lost interest and glanced over Draco and seemed about to look away when something arrested her gaze and she stepped closer. And far enough to the side that she was sliding out of his field of vision.

"I'm afraid you have me at something of a disadvantage," said Draco.

"How so," she said.

"You can look me over all you like, but I can't properly turn my head to the side to return the favour."

"Ah," she stepped to the side with a single graceful motion, that was half pirouette-half curtsy. Placing herself directly in front of him.

"You smirk like my Godfather," he told her.

"You have my uncle's chin, well not chin exactly, the way your cheek muscles attach to your jaw. Are you descended from the house of Black? And perhaps with some Veela ancestry somewhere?"

"The French is from my father's side. And my mother's maiden name was Black," he said, "so are we cousins?"

"Perhaps, perhaps not," she said, "He was not my mother's brother, but her sister's husband. If we are true cousins it's from farther back."

"Ah," he said, and let his eyes wander down, under her arm she held a wand box, and in her hand she clutched what was probably the wand in question. She clutched it like it was the handle of her favourite broom.

"First wand?" he said.

"Yes," she said proudly, and grinned.

Definitely new today. He remembered the feeling when he first held a wand that was actually right for him. Ollivander had scolded halfheartedly that he'd been allowed to try to learn on a legacy wand. Draco could imagine any number of reasons why the wand maker might have been scolding, and twice as many why Draco ought to be thankful that he'd not pressed his impudence much farther.

His eyes strayed to the box again and the end facing him, "Chimera tail sinew," proclaimed the label. "128 galleons" said the price tag. He'd only heard of a Chimera sinew wand in an old catalogue he'd found in a pile of rubbish while exploring one of the outbuildings of the summer chalet, apparently there was a mildly infamous foreign villain who'd settled in that part of France several hundred years before. The advertisement seemed to hint that such a wand would be more of interest as a piece of history or a collector's item than as a normal person's wand. Which could be a veiled hint at dark possibilities and with a ready made alibi provided, in case you felt the need to have one crafted before you purchased such a thing.

128 galleons was enough to pay for half the dress robes he'd be ordering today.

And she (or her family) had paid that much for just a _wand_.

His eyes flicked over her whole outfit. Or as much as he could see without moving his head.

He couldn't place her cloak over dress combination. The exuberant use of bright colour felt normal enough, but something was off.

Or she just brought her fashion advice from a different part of the continent than his family generally frequented.

"Alright, done with that one," said the shop girl while climbing to her feet and pulling the measuring robe away.

Draco relaxed and wiggled in relief.

When he was free he took a half step forward and presented his hand, "I'm Draco Malfoy," he said.

She shook solemnly, "Pleased to meet you Mr. Malfoy. My name is Harriet Matirni."

"Miss Matirni, is that Italian?"

"She shook her head, Slovenian I think, I believe it's an archaic brewing term. Dad's family has been brewers and healers for generations."

Draco was distracted from answering while the shop girl threw a smock over him that was meant for measuring kimonos and similar sorts of jackets.

When his face was free and he realised that he had nothing to say about Slovenia, he went with, "Your English is Impeccable." He sounded like a dolt.

"It should be, my mother is from Weston-super-Mare."

"Where?"

"Near Bristol,"

"Oh," he said, "but …" now he sounded like a super dolt. She didn't seem to mind.

"Grand-Da saw Mum's potions work and thought someone so accomplished so young ought be folded into the family before anything resembling competition sprang up. So he told his sons as much and they drew straws for first right to court, and," she shrugged, "she turned down one for caring more about runes than about potions. And another for caring more about … charms, so she was left with the one who … well Da pretends he's only an apothecary, but he's taught me almost as much about brewing as Mum did, and he reads a lot about alchemy when he's not busy with other things."

Draco was impressed, some adults wouldn't have told their children that much about their courtships, or arranged marriages, and that sounded like it were an odd mix of the two extremes. And most children who knew didn't just blurt it out…

Which implied someone thought she had a head for breeding calculations or political planning, though perhaps she needed a bit more training to know what to share and with whom. He didn't know exactly how and who had selected his parents to meet each other with possible courtship in mind, but they hadn't been idiots, the history of their accomplishments together was proof enough of that.

"What did you say your Mother's family was called?"

"You wouldn't have heard of it," said Harriet, "It only passes by the female line, when the mother dies without female issue odd things happen."

"How odd," said Draco.

"I'm not sure I understand well enough to explain."

"Try?"

"Last time it happened," said Harriet, "was Harry Potter."

"So this family magic we're talking about … you're related to Lily Potter in your maternal line?"

"My Aunt,"

Therefore Lord Potter was her uncle and his mother _had _been Dorea Black. So she was right about that, but what about… "I thought she was a muggle born,"

"No way," said Harriet, "the line is magic users for generations, though we're not always wand users. But the potions and other family magic passes on just fine. My godfather …"

Severus Snape cleared his throat.

She looked up, "Hello Professor Snape," she said, "My friend Draco Malfoy." She turned back, "Mr. Malfoy, My godfather, The potions professor at Hogwarts."

"We've met," said Draco, drinking in his godfather's sneer.

"Quite," said Severus, "Is your father nearby?"

_It had been long enough he would be done at Bourgin & Burk__'s. _"He should be at the apothecary's across the street."

"Thank you," he said, "Harriet, will you mind the senior Patils as needed, and more importantly Madam Malkin, and refrain from leading her astray into selling you robes made of acromantula silk or basilisk armour or anything else that will cost eleven times what a set of Hogwarts robes should cost?"

Harriet stared at him.

"If you think this sentiment is unreasonable, let me remind you that you are eleven and likely to be up to a foot taller by the time you start your second year and even stretching charms have their limit,"

"Yes, I can remember," said Harriet.

"Good," he said, "I'll return within the hour. I hope that neither I nor any of the rest of the party will be forced to wait too long." He strode away.

"Does he _always_ get like that when he's in a hurry?" she sighed.

Draco was confused, "He's _your _godfather,"

She sighed again, "Sometimes I'm not certain if he likes me, or if he just likes to admire how much better a godchild I am than either of my brothers, who he just as easily might have been offered,"

And Draco was absolutely convinced that his godfather did not approve of Vincent or Gregory.

"Never mind that," said Draco, "What were you saying earlier?"

"I don't remember,"

"Are you going to introduce me to your … the rest of your party?"

"Those are the Patil twins, Padma in grey, and Parvati in red. Their mother Rajeeta is in the sari and father Paul is in the green riding clothes."

"Do you know their blood status?"

"What does that mean?"

"It means … do they need pure bloods to sponsor them into the community,"

"I'm not entirely sure what that would mean, nor whether they would see the need, nor whether they'd be allowed to accept the alliance if it weren't from … their caste, they have to be very picky about the oddest things."

"Hindu?" said Draco.

Miss Matirni nodded.

"Ah, I see," said Draco, "I have no idea how things are done in India. Here in England, pure blood is the caste with the responsibility of welcoming the muggleborn into the community. Half blood is the middle caste. To become pure blood they have fulfil certain requirements both regarding knowing their ancestry, and regarding keeping enough gold in reserve in case they are called upon to sponsor a muggleborn, that part is all rather complicated, but the every day aspects boil down to some fairly simple rules of etiquette. Certain forms of respectful address to the castes higher than your own. Certain forms of concern for castes lower than your own. Speaking of which, do you know how your schooling being paid for?"

"Yes,"

"Do you know which house is covering your tuition?"

"Yes," she didn't seem ready to talk about it. It was in fact none of his business. As long as she her parents hadn't been rude enough to refuse any help, and especially any tuition offered. It would be incredibly unfair to be reckoned a mudblood for your parent's lack of manners instead of your own.

"Good," he said, "your line is a client line of that house until their help is no longer necessary,"

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning that house could be responsible to pay for the tuition of all your children for four generations, or until all your descendants are married into pure-blood lines, or until they are obviously wealthy enough that no assistance is necessary. They are also responsible to provide other forms of mentoring that perhaps are more important than tuition. Speaking of, are you going to Hogwarts, or somewhere on the continent."

"Hogwarts," she said.

"Excellent," Draco said, "Me too."

"Hypothetically speaking," she said, "suppose the pure-blood line who sponsored me to Hogwarts, wasn't able to provide the mentoring you spoke of?"

A sick feeling clenched around Draco's stomach. "That's not supposed to happen," he said, "There should always be enough relatives to provide the training you need. Being assigned mentors from other client lines is even allowed."

"How close do the relatives have to be?"

Draco shrugged, "I'm not sure it's specified, even if no connection exists, families trade favours all the time, in order to keep their own obligations covered, and their standing honourable."

She nodded, "When … when we asked, and when he donated my tuition I'm not sure he knew all that."

"Not sure _who _knew all that," said Draco, "You mean your sponsor sponsored you without knowing what was involved?"

"I'm afraid he might have," said the girl, half thoughtful, half forlorn, "his parents died, there's probably a lot that he hasn't been taught."

Draco had the split vision of talking to a heathen savage who might start spewing blasphemies at any moment, or perhaps just had. And of watching an orphan mourning the loss of another orphan's parents rather than her own. Except it wasn't parents she was missing but certain other opportunities.

He wanted to save her quick before anything happened to her, quick before anyone else realised she was an uneducated savage and got the wrong impression about why she might be uneducated.

If she had the breeding of a pure blood, but not the history inside the magical world, or at least not the background of Wizarding Britain to act civilised…

He ached to give her a chance.

And he was painfully aware that he couldn't officially do much without his father's approval. And he wasn't sure how much his father could do for her if she already had an incomplete sponsorship blocking him from offering her a real sponsorship. And his father almost certainly wouldn't approve without establishing what was going on with the other uneducated person who had the wherewithal to pay her tuition but not to tutor her about the culture she was about to enter. But even without his father, surely he could give her hints, point her to books she should read, such as the ones his father had given him to study, the other older books that his mother made him read. She might need help paying for some of them… He glanced at her wand box, somewhere there was money, and a will to use it on necessities. And those books were more necessary than a fancy wand. And a fancy wand … especially if it suited her as well as her caressing indicated, was much more necessary than fancy silk pyjamas that no one would see because he was getting his own room, because he was a child of a member of the board of governors and that meant special privileges. Though Draco had the feeling it might be so that normal pupils never figured out that the children of members of the board of governors were humans too, as if that would work for very long.

But more to the point, which house had the wherewithal to be offering scholarships, and without knowing that they needed to negotiate and honour proper contracts for sponsorship of client lines.

It might be a terribly one-sided trade of information, and she might not be trained to negotiate trades of information. So would it be most Honourable if he negotiated with himself on her behalf? Or had he gotten mixed up with different levels of meta-thinking.

No, but it did sound like sort of the right thing to do.

Basically he promised himself that he'd give her the information she needed if she gave him a specific amount of information in return…

Yes, that would work. And if she gave more, that would just go toward paying for the next piece of information she might need from him.

"Who did you say your sponsor is?" he said, trying to keep a casual tone.

"Well after you explained all that," she said, "I'm not sure if he counts as a sponsor."

"Point," said Draco, "perhaps you should write him and try to get a clarification, or perhaps your parents know even if his guardians don't." There were after all, many houses that had lost many members in the last war. There might even be semi-wealthy client lines offering each other scholarships as well as raising the lordlings of their sponsor houses because the sponsors had taken so many casualties.

She wasn't budging, or maybe she was negotiating without telling him that she knew they were negotiating?

So an equally subtle response? "I want to give you the titles of some books. I _highly _recommend you read them before you start school, perhaps you should also make sure your sponsor gets the information as well."

"Oh," she said, "yeah." A wistful look. That wasn't the look of disgust at the idea of additional homework, so…

"I'd even offer to give you the gold to buy them."

She frowned.

"He gave me access to a kid's trust vault account thingy, for buying school supplies," she said, "are these the sorts of books that I could properly spend school supply money on?"

"Yes, definitely," he said, "If you actually read them, well not just read, but actually _study_ them, and learn how to use them to negotiate properly for your line and as a honourable client for your sponsor. That could be like two thirds of the mentoring he's supposed to provide you with."

"Oh," she smirked, "so if I buy them he should be like, thanking me, for buying them with his money instead of my own?"

Draco grinned, "Exactly, Who did you say your sponsor was? It's not like he couldn't compile a long list of 50 families once he got home. Perhaps he could shorten it to perhaps ten, if he could get accurate information about her family, and so far he only had her last name, Matirni, and the knowledge that her mother was the sister of Harry Potter's mother.

Wait.

She was still reluctant to say, though she remained silent as if she'd run out of ways to dodge the question. And if that was the answer he'd be either be capitalising on it like crazy or he'd be entirely reluctant to claim it in front of strangers.

He was a little sad that he might still count as a stranger to her. Still he had a guess that he'd almost be willing to put money on. And if he were wrong, … telling a lie that would be very easy to contradict was also sometimes useful interrogation trick…

"Oh, I see," he said, "I bet it was your cousin who started sponsoring you by accident."

She looked confused for a split second, then surprised.

"And he probably doesn't actually want you to be telling anyone that you've met him, let alone hint that if you get into certain kinds of trouble, the great Harry Potter might come and bail you out."

Her surprise solidified, "How did you know?"

He shrugged, "You told me enough to figure it out, I thought I was pathetically slow." She hadn't really, she'd told enough that his father might have been able to figure it out, or Blaise, he had to introduce her to Blaise and get him on her side.

She looked properly alarmed.

"If you prefer," he said, "when you must confess of a passing understanding of a to House Black or House Potter, don't bother to claim a connection to them. It keeps people guessing if you at most tell how you know but never why you cared. And if someone tries to pin you down, you can mention an acquaintance in any of the pure blood houses, and hint that you saw pictures or genealogies while visiting. Then they can worry themselves sick about why Draco Malfoy was boring a poor witch to death with old genealogies, rather than let them do several quick calculations and say, 'Ah, that Matirni girl is the cousin of Heir Potter, do you suppose he'd pay ransom for her?' or 'send her a howler on our behalf' or whatever their game is."

She nodded thoughtfully.

"Alright, I'm back," said the shop girl, "Arm's up let's get this off you."

Draco complied,

"I'll be right back," she said and turned toward the back room.

Two other shop girls bustled in, one still smacking her lips and running her tongue over her teeth. So that's where they'd been. It was a bit early for lunch, but perhaps they expected a certain percentage of clientele who could only get away to shop over lunch. He'd thought this were a better sort of shop than that, but perhaps father had always brought him earlier in the day.

They went over to Madam Malkin to report in and receive instruction which of the customers to help first.

Madam Malkin glanced at Draco and his conversation partner, before leading them over to the woman who seemed to be the sole adult still present from the original party. A moment later they were converging on the two olive skinned girls trying on the dress robes that Draco was sure only Augusta Longbottom could properly pull off.

Or to be exact, the one in the red outfit was standing on a stool and trying on robes, and the one in grey was alternately helping, or standing back to admire, or reprimanding her for something or other.

"Do you have something to write on?" said Draco.

"I've got a pen," she said.

Draco frowned and contemplated the contents of his pocket for a moment before snatching up the shop girl's notepad from the floor and flipping open to remove a blank sheet from near the end.

When he looked up she had put her wand back in it's box and had brought a muggle style pen out from somewhere.

"Do you use that for everything?" he said cautiously. He'd heard his father complain something about muggleborn and muggle style writing implements.

"Everything except for _rune work_," she said as if he were stupid.

_That _was interesting. And implied all sorts of things about what her half-muggle family might have been teaching her while his family had tutored him in etiquette and the duties of a pureblood heir.

The fact that a quarter of what Mum believed was at odds with what Da believed, made things odd, but it was always possible to err on the side of politeness.

"Should be fine for taking notes then," he said, "You want 'The House of Honour,' and 'Magic's Debt,' and 'The Pureblood Way.' if you finish those and want to try a different perspective that comes out to the same philosophy but requires you to give people the benefit of the doubt in a different set of ways, try: 'Family First and Magic Follows,'"

She'd given up trying to use her hand for a desk and sat on the floor to use her wand box for a desk.

She repeated the list and he repeated himself until she had all four titles right.

"Only Pureblood Way and Family First should cost very much. Family First has been out of print for a while, it's closer to the way the House of Black believed, but…" he stopped.

Madam Malkin seemed to have gotten the other two shop girls safely ensconced with the other two customers and come over to claim the attention of a customer who could so thoroughly monopolise the attention of the scion of Malfoy. Of course, one must somehow reckon the fact that the scion of Malfoy was metaphorically anchored in one spot, and welcomed the distraction.

"Pardon me, miss…" said Madam Malkin.

"Hi," Miss Matirni obviously took that as a greeting, not as a greeting and a hint to introduce herself.

Draco performed the needful.

"Madam Malkin, this is Harriet Matirni. Miss Matirni, this is Madam Malkin,"

Matirni beamed and held out her hand.

_Oh, but she needed an etiquette tutor so much!_

Malkin beamed back and had the grace to take the offered hand before curtsying over it. She seemed to think Matirni cute, so that was alright.

"So, are you headed to Hogwarts also?" said Madam Malkin.

Belatedly, Matirni curtsied back. "Yes, Ma'am." She did it very well, but with a twinkle in her eye that didn't match performing a courtesy. She thought she was pay acting and was amused by the part.

"Will you be wanting anything besides standard uniform robes?"

Matirni frowned and turned to Draco, "what sorts of play clothes will be permitted during free hours, or… anything like that?"

Draco could halfway guess the answer to that question from his shopping list. But that would be the answer for the male half of the pupils. He didn't have a clue otherwise.

If only he'd been a second year when she'd asked that he could have been much more helpful.

Luckily Malkin knew.

Of course, Malkin knew. And she led her around and showed her various things.

Hopefully Matirni would be able to follow her godfather's advice about not buying that which wasn't intended to be on the shopping list…

What was the deal with the wand.

The wand that had been left behind on the floor with a piece of paper and a pen.

Draco was sorely tempted to pick up the whole pile and shove it in his pocket, and find some subtle way to pass it to his godfather.

But it wasn't really his place to decide which lessons Uncle Snape ought to be teaching the girl.

What was their connection called anyway. He'd heard of 'god-brothers' or 'god-sisters' and he thought that meant from a god child to its godparent's birth children. But if they shared a godparent, did that make them god-siblings also, or were they more like god-cousins?

...

The shop girl came out again and held out a set of measuring trousers, "Put these on in the changing room over there," she said, "and we'll be able to finish up."

Draco glanced again at the pile of things left on the floor.

The shop girl seemed to get the idea, "I'll be standing right here watch her things for you, just go change."

"Thanks," he said, and hurried off.

As soon as he had the door close behind him he knew that had been the easy out and not the correct choice, but he was stuck with the decision now, and might as well finish as quickly so as to resume his post as soon as possible.

When he returned she had moved the paper and pen to a nearby shelf and was holding the box in her hands looking very thoughtful.

"What are you thinking to make your face look like that?" he said.

"I knew a girl once," she said, "Her wand was also chimera tail sinew, had some odd properties. I was just wondering what Ollivander knows about your little friend, and how much he would say aloud."

"No doubt he would say much less than he knows," said Draco and held out his hands, "Do you mind?"

She handed the box over and he put it on the shelf with the paper and pen. He was careful to handle it just a bit roughly, so he could feel the slide and rattle from inside the box. To assure himself that there was still a wand inside. He didn't open it to check if it was the right wand, he hadn't actually paid enough attention to be sure he could identify it. His father would reprimand him for that. He though Draco ought to be able to observe everything at the same time and recall it perfectly at a moment's notice. Perhaps someday he would be able to.

She started to kneel down again, then frowned, "I say!" she said, "Accio stool, accio cushion."

When she was satisfied with their placement she motioned him on top of the first and she sat on the second.

...

She was just straightening up when Draco saw his father and godfather and the other man in green crossing the street toward the door. It took them not a moment after they were inside to notice Draco.

The other man had eyes only for his wife and daughters. At least he seemed to take no more notice of Matirni than he did of Draco. And Draco made the easiest assumption.

"Hello father," said Draco, with a nod so small that instead of seeming like it were an insult for not being bigger it would be an admission of helplessness for being in the grip of a seamstress. "Hello…" he faltered, he'd been instructed not a week ago, but … he recovered quickly, "Professor Snape."

Professor Snape gave a minimal nod, and a minimal sneer: grudging approval.

...

"Father, we may have a problem, it's a little hard for me to calculate properly."

"What sort of problem?" said Lucius.

"My god-cousin over there," Draco nodded his head sideways, "in the blue robes, seems to have been accidentally, halfway sponsored by a second or third cousin of mine on Mum's side. I don't quite trust my memory of that part of her family tree. But according to what she's said, he may not realise he's bumbling his way into sponsoring her, and to her knowledge he has not negotiated in good faith about mentioning his house's ongoing obligations, nor has he been up front about the obligations that will devolve on her as a client line, because he doesn't realise that such things exist, because he lost both parents in the last war and has not been raised to know his house's obligations as a pure blood line."

"Who," said Lucius, "if he becomes a blood traitor out of ignorance, the _mountains _of dishonour that ought to be assigned to the parties responsible…" Lucius shuddered, theatrically.

"I have no idea who oversaw _that_ portion of the fiasco," said Draco, well the dark lord oversaw the beginning, but there were any number interested parties who might have been responsible for gaining access to the newly orphaned Harry Potter and spiriting him away to wherever he was being so incompletely educated, "I thought that giving her a list of books she could read that would inform her of the things he ought to have provided mentors to explain, might provide a major alleviation to my honour, and if she buys them on his credit, it might go that much further for atoning his own. I also think there should be at least one book of standard etiquette, but I wasn't sure which title to suggest, I wasn't even sure if the best book for a girl would be one that I'd even seen." Draco risked the ire of the seamstress's apprentice and pointed to the pile of things on the shelf, _Professor_ Snape snatched them up and after glancing over the list passed it to Father.

"Reasonable, reasonable," said Father nodding, "What are your thoughts Severus."

"As to etiquette books for young women, I'd have to ask around. As far as the sponsorship questions. I'm … something of an old friend of the family," said _Professor_ Snape, "I'm beginning to think that when the family named me godfather, they were begging for me to sponsor the child, without explaining that to me, or realising that I don't have the required status. They might have also known the child was a witch and never bothered to mention it to me. I only became aware when I was semi-randomly assigned her name as a muggle born that needed to be shown where and how to buy her school supplies."

Lucius nodded, "Do either of these unfortunate souls have names?"

"She's Harriet Matirni," said Draco, "I'd rather not state in public the name her cousin who paid her scholarship without sponsoring her properly."

"This list is good," said Lucius glancing at it again, your mother would be pleased that you've included Family First. Especially if we're taking up this responsibility through the Black side of the family."

"When I tell you his name," said Draco, "either of you might know an additional book or two that might better set fourth the traditional perspective of his house."

They both shrugged and nodded.

Then Snape tensed his mask dropped over his face, "I commend you for choosing to not speak his name in public,"

Lucius's head snapped up and both Malfoy's stared at Professor Snape.

"I wouldn't worry about his house's perspective," said Professor Snape, "There were times I thought the previous lord more a blood traitor than a pure blood." Then he shrugged, "And though she was considered a muggle born, As far back as I've seen the genealogy, it's squibs and sensitives all the way. When they manage to breed a full witch or wizard, they still need introductions and mentoring to join the wizarding community, but as a family they don't really need anyone to go specially out of their way to introduce them to _magic_."

"Enough of this," said Lucius, "Let's go find lunch." Then he looked around, "I don't suppose your party would join us."

"My party," said Snape with distaste "will be eating vegetarian or vegan unless I very much miss my guess, I'm just not sure which, or where."

Lucius glanced around, then muttered, "The quaint little Tibetan dive just beyond Knockturn Ally?"

Professor Snape looked suddenly relieved, "That might work, let me discuss it with the others."

They both nodded at each other and Professor Snape stalked away in the direction of the other adults.

"Alright child," said the shop girl, "Hop down and change into your own clothes."

"Alright," Draco said.

...

When he returned the stool and cushion were gone, the girl was flipping through her notes, making sure she had filled in all the measurements that Madam Malkin had asked for.

After several moments she said she was done. Lucius turned toward the door, and held out his hand toward Draco.

**{End Chapter 4}**


	5. Express

**{Disclaimer}**

_If you recognise it from somewhere else, then I almost certainly don__'t own it. When Harriet references characters you don't know, take it as an invitation to catch up on your Shakespeare._

_If you wish to help beta this or future works me please contact me. If you find a spelling or grammar error that takes you out of the story, feel free to tell me about it, though if it__'s inside quotes it _might _be intended as characterisation and I might choose not to fix it. I did my best to use UK spelling and phrasing over US, but assume there are lapses, if you have further suggestions regarding that I__'m open to consider them._

_If there are scenes or one liners that you would like to see with these versions of these characters in future years feel free to send me those as well, no promises. Ditto if I missed obvious allusions to Shakespeare in conversations where characters would have indulged._

_There is already at least one companion OMAKE story in progress. _

_Based on feedback I am re-releasing this in smaller sections, Thanks for the feedback. I apologise for the hyphens it seems the most effective way to keep my line breaks where they belong._

…

_This is an story about who Harry might be, in an AU that diverges before Lily and Snape go to Hogwarts. The divergence starts when Petunia is given a book called __'The Thirteen Clocks' by James Thurber. She finds the formula used by it's protagonists, "If X must be done, and cannot be done by method Y, then it must be attempted by a method not-Y," to be infinitely more useful than "If at first you don't succeed, try try again," and of course she lives too early to have heard the early 21 century buzzword version of the adage, "Fail better."_

_Because of this strategy she manages to gain Snape__'s respect and help, though not the friendship for which she had originally been jealous. With access to his research and aid she managed to gain entrance to a different magical community. A community made up of contented squibs rather than jealous ones._

_..._

_Enjoy,_

_H. Bregalad_

**Express**

Harriet woke gradually to the friendly and familiar clump-clumping of carriage wheels on tracks. And to an uncomfortable feeling that seemed to indicate she'd fallen asleep somewhere other than her bed, which meant that whatever train she fallen asleep on wasn't the circus train. Then she noticed the sound slow and continue slowing. She came to herself just as the announcement finished playing, so she checked her borrowed watch and examined the schedule. It took several minutes longer than it would have if she'd been wide awake. But it did look like it would be her transition so she grabbed her locker and made her way to the end of the carriage waiting with a few of her fellow travellers and several morning commuters.

She was glad she didn't normally have to worry about time and catching trains. In the circus it was more about catching cues and keeping alert to the ring master and sudden rearrangements to the show sequence. Not synchronising everyone's schedule for something like a class. She hoped she didn't muff things too badly before she figured out how to get to classes on time.

...

Meanwhile the train slowed to a stop and she climbed down and turned toward platforms 9 & 10. Her godfather had explained where and how to find the Hogwarts Express. But that didn't stop her from wandering groggily by before realising her mistake and stopping to turn back. Which seemed to disgruntle of several mundanes who'd been following too closely behind her.

She uncharitably thought that it served them right, but she didn't say as much because she wasn't actually clear on what counted as standard necessities or standard etiquette for _passenger_ train stations and among train commuters.

Soon she was on the still empty platform and found quiet looking corner where she put down her locker and curled up on top of it.

...

She woke again as a train pulled in and hissed out a cloud of steam. A few people were around now, and many more were arriving, some through the hidden portal from kings cross station, and some were variously walking, climbing, or being tossed from a row of fireplaces.

And some were just appearing out of nowhere.

_Better put my public face on,_ she thought and sat up and whipped the sleep from her eyes.

_Should I wait for the Patils or just board the train and go back to sleep?_

The Patils had come to London several days previously to stay with a cousin who would bring them sometime mid-morning.

The extra hour of sleep had made a big difference. She felt almost her normal self. A cup of tea would not be amiss, but she'd probably have to wait until the train was underway for that. Unless there were a vendor around, or she went back out into the bustle of the muggle portion of the station.

It looked as though most of the others were milling around meeting friends and making introductions to acquaintances. So maybe they weren't permitted to board the train until some signal was given. But still, to err on the side of caution she decided to move closer to the edge of the platform.

After a measuring the distance to the train with her eyes she picked up her locker and shifted it again all the way to her shoulder before starting for the train. Just in time to be blocked by a large group of redheads flitting through the barrier with their trunks on hand trucks, like the roustabouts used for some of the heavier stage equipment.

_Ugh_, she thought as she recovered from the near collision, _so that__'s how those mundanes had felt when I stopped and turned around right in front of them._

No matter, she made her way around them, consciously making the decision to skirt them on the platform side of the gathering crowd, not risking the space between them and the barrier.

...

"Oi Fred," said someone in the crowd, "get a load of that firsty, do you suppose he's packing light or muscle?"

"Check the boots, George," said replied a voice that was almost identical, "that well dressed firsty is witch."

"Impressive," said Fred. And she heard them follow her at speed.

But no they passed around her on both sides and made straight for the train. Between their choice to use hand trucks and their extra height it's not like she could have raced them.

When they reached the train they helped each other hand their trunks up without the slightest pause.

_So boarding now was permitted._

When she arrived they offered to help with hers.

She shrugged, about to protest. But the closer one took the motion to be her tensing to pass the locker off her shoulder into his waiting hands. And before she could explain otherwise he'd lifted it smoothly up to his brother.

Identical twin if her judgement wasn't off.

"Thanks," she said instead and climbed up after and picked up her locker again to stow it somewhere appropriate.

"Muscles," stage whispered one of them behind her, "Definitely muscles, quodpot do you suppose or horseback riding?

"Archery?" suggested the other one.

_Oh, they were wondering what she did regularly enough to have her muscles._

All she had to do was want muscles, but it was probably the acting and dancing (and the associated rigging) that let her know intuitively _where _she wanted her muscles for the task at hand. They didn't let her roustabout, but only because they didn't know or didn't trust how quickly she could change her muscle and bone configurations.

Or because they didn't want her littler cousins to follow in her footsteps and hurt themselves.

"Dancing," she said, "it takes both strength and skill to throw people around without hurting them."

Of course, mundanes probably didn't group trapeze work as dancing, but … well even some of the trapeze artists didn't know what they did was dancing, so that didn't mean much. Or it meant that her own perception of the world was skewed, which was the normal state of the world.

They'd stopped short at her statement.

_I was getting tired of them following me anyway_, she thought and opened a compartment, and put her locker down.

...

The latch rattled and the door opened, "Hello," said someone.

Harriet realised that she didn't know how long she'd been staring out the window at the motion of the crowd. She often found watching crowds to be hypnotic. Generally the only chance she had to indulge was at the top of Hathaway tower, and even then she always had a cue she was listening for.

She climbed down off the bench and turned toward the door.

"Hello," she said, "I'm Harriet Matirni"

"I'm Sally Ann Perks," said Sally Ann Perks.

Harriet decided that she didn't recognise Perks' shape beyond a vague sense of 'Central England'

"Matirni?" said Perks, "Is that Italian?"

"No more like Romanian or Slovenian,

Perks shrugged, "they're all Romance languages right?"

"Yeah sort of," said Harriet.

A big girl came in with purple pink hair, "Oh good, here you are," she said.

"Huh," said Harriet and Perks and glanced back and forth between the new girl and each other.

"Watcher, Miss Matirni," said the taller girl, "Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?"

"Umm," said Harriet, "Do I know you?"

The girl's face changed and her hair turned pinker and then brown. The girl from the shop.

Perks screamed.

"Oh, it's You," said Harriet when the compartment was quiet enough to talk, "This is Sally-Ann Perks. What _is _your name?"

"Of course it's me. And the name is Tonks, I have a first name but I don't answer to it."

"Oh, OK," said Harriet. And made a curtsy.

Tonks returned it, and then made one to Perks, "Glad to meet you Miss Perks."

Perks was still too shocked or shy to return the gesture.

Tonks shrugged and turned back to Harriet.

"So you met my cousin Draco in the store," said Tonks, "his Dad came in just before you left. Did you notice him?"

Harriet shook her head.

"He looks something like this," Tonks straightened up and changed her face to look like Draco, only older, and without the Black cheeks, and with more veela in the straight, long hair.

"No I didn't," said Harriet.

The man shrugged and turned back into the pink haired girl who first entered the compartment.

"Do you two mind if I sit?"

Harriet looked at Perks, who seemed shy but resolute, "yeah, you can stay."

"Thanks," said Tonks and sat down, "getting back to my story, Uncle Lucius." Her eyebrows twitched together, "that's Lord Malfoy, for those keeping track at home. Anyway Uncle Lucius, told me that the Black Family will be watching over the interests of all its members as best we can, in the absence of a head of house. My mum's cousin Sirius Black is in Azkaban, don't you know, he's head of the family, but not able to make a ruling, so in his absence there's the three black daughters, that's my mum, Draco's mum, and Bellatrix Lestrange, also in Azkaban."

"Ohhhkay?" said Harriet not knowing where this was going. She'd heard of Azkaban but only in passing, and she couldn't remember if it was a loony bin or a prison.

"So anyway, Uncle Lucy ordered Draco's Mum to reconcile with my Mum, which they'd both been wanting to do, but putting off for a while, but Uncle Lucy can be persuasive when he feels like it, and he did, so they are now, so now Draco's parents and my parents and I and Draco have all agreed that in the absence of a sitting Lord Black, we're going to settle house matters between us, parliamentary style, and the biggest matter was that Heir Potter, one of our cousins, if you leave out Uncle Lucy and my dad, but you get the idea. Heir Potter is our cousin and might need help and but he's taken it upon himself to sponsor you though he might not be in a proper position to do so."

"Wait," said Perks, "sponsorship is a real thing?"

"Yes," said Harriet and Tonks together.

"And people willingly promise themselves and their offspring for four generations to be vassals to established houses just for some tutoring in manners or something."

"It's not vassalage," said Tonks, "It's client lineage."

"What does that even mean?" said Perks.

"If you'd accepted that tutoring…" said Harriet.

Tonks sighed, "if you can imagine families as if they were people."

"Huh?" said Perks.

"When a family sponsors your family, it's sort of like their family adopts your family to be … well like a child until you are of age, but mostly like a younger sibling,"

"Ok," said Perks, "What does all that bullshit look like in practice?"

Tonks burst out laughing, "I like you. Of course it's all bullshit, so are all the other laws, but when everyone lives by the same ones, it makes life more predictable. We call it civilisation, but it's really just the bullshit that seems to have worked best so far."

"Umm," said Harriet and Perks.

"Too much irreverence all at once," said Tonks, "Alright to answer your question… do you have any siblings?"

Perks shook her head, "Dad left before I was born,"

"Bloody hell," said Tonks, "no wonder you've figured out that family is bull before you're twelve."

"He came back after I got my Hogwarts letter, he's married somewhere in Wales but he wanted to make sure that I either had a sponsor, or was willing to claim him as my dad and that he'd tutored me in a bunch of stuff."

"What happened?" said Tonks.

"Mum made him go away," said Perks.

Harriet and Tonks exchanged a glance, "Do you have a sponsor?"

"No," said Perks, "And you still haven't convinced me I want one."

"That's not what I'm trying to do," Tonks pointed at Harriet, "You called her a vassal, and I'm doing my duty as a member of her sponsor's house's sponsor's house, to inform you that there's a big difference between being a sharecropper/slave of someone, and being a … metaphorical younger cousin. With plenty of older cousins around to sweep in and save you if you get in over your head."

Harriet grinned at the picture.

Tonks turned to glare at Harriet, "that is not permission to go around getting in trouble, that is permission to come and ask for help, so that you get advice and don't end up _in_ trouble to start with."

Harriet nodded soberly.

"Which is precisely the message I came looking for you today to deliver, the adults all wanted to make sure that you weren't only going to Draco for help, for one, he's only your age, for another he's a boy. When a witch needs advice about certain things, she wants to go to another witch about them."

"Oh," said Harriet.

All three of them were blushing, some a bit more than the other.

"That's all, message delivered, I can go now…" said Tonks, "were there any questions?"

"You said House of Potter is client to House of Black?" said Harriet.

"_Was _client, not is client, but that's ancient history, it's its own house now, but they've remained friends, so to speak, and even intermarry from time to time. The House of Black sponsored the House Of Malfoy also, not nearly so long ago."

"What about the other name you mentioned, Lestrange?"

"No, Lestrange was a client line of the House of Nott. "

"Oh,"

"Next question?"

"Umm, you were talking about Heir Potter being… needing help too, are you, I mean, are the Blacks pretending to sponsor him again too, since he doesn't have parents to tutor him?"

"We're willing to, yes, though Uncle Lucy seemed to think that he's getting tutoring of some sort from someone, something about cold as a statue and twice as sharp. He's a little concerned that he might not be getting the tutoring he needs if he were to wish to come back to Britain after he finishes his schooling on the continent."

"Umm," said Harriet, "I've been sending him the books Draco told me to buy, after I finish reading them."

"Well that's a start," said Tonks, "Tell him what I was trying to explain earlier, that the acting House of Black, is willing to stand with him, should he need it."

"In exchange for acknowledging that he is a client house again, or acting like it until he is of age, or what is the cut off point?" said Harriet.

Tonks gave her an odd look, then shrugged, "the cut off point was as soon as he stops needing help. He's a Lord and all, if he goes around needing help all the time, then everyone will think he's a client house, if he goes around helping people they know he's fit to be a sponsor."

Harriet nodded and rubbed her forehead. "Alright, I'll tell him. He asked me about a week ago who Lord Malfoy was and why he was being written to by said Lord. I didn't know what to answer. Now I have useful information to give him."

"The other thing," said Tonks, "Heir Potter is a Black, sort of, through his grandmother. He could ask us for favours based on that connection alone, without worrying about all the other older connections. That's sort of the way Dad was looking at it I think."

"Alright," said Harriet.

Tonks turned to Perks, "Still don't want to find a sponsor house?"

Perks shrugged, "I guess it depends on what sort of family they are, and I think I'd rather they had nothing to do with Dad's family,"

"Right," said Tonks, "Good call. Any more questions? Either of you?"

They both shook their heads.

"Alright, then I have one," she turned to Harriet, "What does Harry Potter look like?"

"His nose and eyes are green like his Mum, and his hair is like his dad's, and I can't explain his ears very well, and he has a scar on his forehead.

"What about his chin? Mouth?"

"It's mostly his dad, on both."

Tonks kept staring at her.

"It's a very House of Black sort of chin, not quite like Draco's… maybe if Draco worked enough that he needed his mouth for chewing instead of just talking."

Tonks burst out laughing again.

Even Perks giggled.

"As I remember, you did your fair share of talking when you met him."

Harriet shrugged, "I'm an actor,"

"Actress," corrected Perks.

Harriet shrugged.

"And I suppose you were in makeup too?" said Tonks seeming to be disappointed.

"Well yeah," said Harriet, "Umm why do you say it like that?"

"The way you talk about faces made me wonder about why you've had practice observing the way you do, being a makeup artist and actress could explain it."

Harriet shrugged, "I suppose," _And a metamorphmagus, which I__'m keeping a secret; and half-trained to cold read, though I always find it a disconcerting experience._

**{End Chapter 5}**


	6. First Night

**{Disclaimer}**

_If you recognise it from somewhere else, then I almost certainly don__'t own it. When Harriet references characters you don't know, take it as an invitation to catch up on your Shakespeare._

_If you wish to help beta this or future works me please contact me. If you find a spelling or grammar error that takes you out of the story, feel free to tell me about it, though if it__'s inside quotes it _might _be intended as characterisation and I might choose not to fix it. I did my best to use UK spelling and phrasing over US, but assume there are lapses, if you have further suggestions regarding that I__'m open to consider them._

_If there are scenes or one liners that you would like to see with these versions of these characters in future years feel free to send me those as well, no promises. Ditto if I missed obvious allusions to Shakespeare in conversations where characters would have indulged._

_There is already at least one companion OMAKE story in progress. _

_Based on feedback I am re-releasing this in smaller sections, Thanks for the feedback. I apologise for the hyphens it seems the most effective way to keep my line breaks where they belong._

…

_This is an story about who Harry might be, in an AU that diverges before Lily and Snape go to Hogwarts. The divergence starts when Petunia is given a book called __'The Thirteen Clocks' by James Thurber. She finds the formula used by it's protagonists, "If X must be done, and cannot be done by method Y, then it must be attempted by a method not-Y," to be infinitely more useful than "If at first you don't succeed, try try again," and of course she lives too early to have heard the early 21 century buzzword version of the adage, "Fail better."_

_Because of this strategy she manages to gain Snape__'s respect and help, though not the friendship for which she had originally been jealous. With access to his research and aid she managed to gain entrance to a different magical community. A community made up of contented squibs rather than jealous ones._

_..._

_Enjoy,_

_H. Bregalad_

**Classes**

Potions class was somehow exactly what Harriet expected, and somewhat disappointing.

Professor Snape had quizzed a few of them before they started, and been pleased with her first several answers, not so much with some of the gryffindors. Finally they started brewing. Which had not lasted long. Neville's cauldron blew up and Draco went to help him even before Professor Snape started to assign someone else. Then he saw the state of Harriet and Draco's potion and told Harriet to go, and for Draco to finish on his own.

...

It took her half way to the infirmary before Harriet realised that meant he knew she could finish the potion and wanted to let Draco have practice too. She really ought to look through the book a third time, and this time make a list of the potions she _didn__'t _have years of practice with, so that she could explain to the Professor why she'd rather if he didn't mess up her chances to practice when those were scheduled.

Yes, that should work, present it as a weakness she intended to remedy rather than a boast, he seemed to respond better that way sometimes.

...

Or he had sent her because he trusted her taking Neville to the infirmary?

"How bad is it?" she whispered.

"Hurts," said Neville, "about like bubotuber pus, only hot, and not feeling like it's spreading deeper."

Harriet shuddered.

They reached the infirmary, and Harriet explained what she knew so that Neville wouldn't have to talk. He seemed like he was having trouble with that.

Then she backed out of the way and watched as the nurse performed several spells with her wand, and then poured two vials of potions into his mouth, and applied a some from a third vial directly on the burn.

Neville seemed to be breathe easier after that.

It was several minutes before the burn started to vanish.

By that time an older pupil came in with some sort of woody leaf stuck through his hand, and trying to wiggle back out. Or deeper in, Harriet couldn't quite tell.

The nurse cut most of the leaf off, both above and below the intersection, and then began tugging. When that availed nothing she started asking what kind of plant it was.

The pupil had already fainted.

"It looks like Begging Astelia," said Neville, "if you feed it butter, or offer it silver, it's supposed to retreat."

"Hmm," said the Nurse and summoned a tiny ugly creature and asked him to fetch her an ounce of butter. It vanished again.

Before it returned the nurse disappeared into her office and reappeared with some money.

It didn't take long for the rest of the 'leaf' to be convinced to come out. It looked more like a twig and several bits of leaf to Harriet.

After the nurse incinerated all the fragments, she cleaned and dressed the wound, all with magic. Then woke the patient, again with magic. And got him to take two potions.

...

After that she returned to Neville, complemented his quick identification of the plant and sent them to the great hall for lunch.

"I must admit," said Harriet as they explored in the direction that the great hall ought to have existed in, "the nurse's magic looked a lot more interesting than potions,"

"Hmm," said Neville, "You, Umm, don't like potions either?"

Harriet shrugged, "I like them just fine, but I can brew at home, I'm not allowed to practice with my wand at home."

"Ah," said Neville, "From what I understand we can practice anything in the classrooms but not in the hall."

"What about outside?"

"If that's the sort of plant they have outside, I'd be careful outside." He said.

"Maybe that's why the forbidden forest is forbidden?" said Harriet.

"I sort of got the idea that the forbidden forest is full of dangerous _animals_."

"Oh," said Harriet, "you know all sorts of useful trivia,"

Neville shrugged, "people talk a lot, if they don't talk to _me_ they forget I'm listening."

"Maybe," said Harriet.

...

Lunch was almost as odd as the feast the previous night. There wasn't as much of it, but some of the dishes seemed showy for no particular purpose, like something the diners would put on for the mundanes. Except more so, vegetables that sparkled, sausages with glowy bits, deserts that were beautifully savoury one bite out of five.

After that came defence against the dark arts. Which seemed to be two hours of possibly useful trivia with no overriding goal or organisation. Harriet hadn't thought anything could be more disorganised than the book they were teaching from, but she was wrong, that lecture felt like someone reading through a address book, except instead of a name and an address and a telephone number, each entry comprised something dangerous, and the top three ways of neutralising the threat, without any discussion of why other seemingly commonsense alternatives _weren__'t _better.

Harriet had no idea how she would memorise any of it, nor how, even if she did, it would be of any help to her if she ever landed in any of the situations mentioned.

On her way out her arm was caught from behind and she spun around. It was only Perks.

"Hiya Perks," Harriet said.

"Hello, Matirni," said Perks.

"What's up?"

"Can we go somewhere private?" muttered Perks.

_I don__'t know if there is anywhere around here like that._

"Umm," said Harriet, "I'm on my way to the washroom?"

Perks nodded and fell in beside her.

As soon as the door closed Perks ducked and glanced under the stalls to verify that they were alone. "I figured out who my half-brother is, and I'm _not_ impressed."

"Oh?"

"And apparently I'm heir of the Hufflepuff line, Or at least that's what the sorting hat said, and the picture over the fireplace calls me granddaughter instead of daughter like she calls all the other girls."

"Huh," said Harriet.

"Zechariah Smith has been gaining a following claiming to be the heir of Hufflepuff. I thought something was off about him even before I figured out that Hufflepuff talks to him differently also."

"Off _how_ exactly?" said Harriet.

"He acts the way your friend Draco acted between class and lunch."

"Hmm," said Harriet.

"I have no idea how to deal with that, I'm not going to be following him around like the others are, he's my little brother for … 'for Merlin's sake' and I refuse. But I don't want them all following _me _around either. And I don't want him to resent me for stealing his group, but… but eventually they're going to figure out that Grandmother acknowledges me and that my birthday is earlier. And I don't want them to figure out about Dad being an idiot."

"I don't know enough about your parents to know exactly how much of an idiot either of them might have been," said Harriet, "but what can you do about any of it?"

Harriet stopped and tried to think, there was _so_ much she didn't know about how status could be projected and calculated around here. "I haven't a clue about that either," said Harriet, "if I was in that situation I'd ask for advice from Tonks, or even Draco."

"I don't want Tonks following me around, and I don't know Draco well enough."

"I think Draco would be more likely to follow you around than Tonks would be."

"Hmm, interesting point," she said, "Tonks could ignore my ancestry, she already proved that on the train. And Draco was creepy in between the times when he figured out how to act from how you and Tonks were acting."

"Yeah," said Harriet, "he thinks I care about magical ancestry because I tend to notice ancestry from facial features, because of the acting and makeup thing that Tonks was worried about."

"And the whole wizarding world cares about magical ancestry?"

Harriet shrugged, "The whole pureblood caste cares about magical ancestry because it is their responsibility to uphold the social order by identifying the muggleborns and making sure that they receive every chance to become integrated into the social order."

"You say that like it's honourable to make converts,"

Harriet shrugged, "imagine if a third of the government was tasked with just naturalisation. But anyway, I get the feeling that a lot of it tones down after the first year or two of being integrated, and then it's just a safety net for four generations, by which time you should have a safety net by your own family ties instead of by the family ties of your sponsor's house."

"You're thinking that this is just … what the wizarding world does instead of education and welfare taxes?"

"That's what it looks like to me, so claim muggleborn status to get the goodies, or claim your ancestry to get to call yourself one of the six oldest families in the kingdom, but it comes at the price of always looking for muggleborns to take care of."

"Oh, dear," said Perks, "Oh dear-oh dear-oh dear!"

"Yeah," said Harriet, "My sponsor's line is like a third as old as your line, but I'm not allowed to mention it, I'm only allowed to say that the House of Black is mentoring me for them."

"That's pretty crazy too," said Perks, "now I'm even less sure where to start."

"Start with a Smith genealogy, and a letter to your Mum," said Harriet, "figure out for sure whether this Smith kid is your half-brother or a cousin or something, and anything else you can use to prove whether you or Smith are the rightful heir of Hufflepuff, and you might check for a difference in magical heritage compared to just family legitimacy or whatever, sometimes they differ. By 'magical heritage' I mean you might have a bit of extra talent because of who your parents were, and even how many children they might have had, or not had before you. By mundane heritage I mean things like who you stand to inherit from and who you'll be expected to take care of despite having never met."

"Actually," said Perks, "he is saying that the hat told him, which is odd because the hat told me too."

"And you don't think it was speaking metaphorically?" said Harriet, "trying to convince you to accept the house that it already picked out for you?"

"No, it said I wouldn't be happy anywhere else, and it showed me … umm, no offence but do you _like_ being in slytherin?"

Harriet shrugged, it was cold, and the people were cold, but they studied and they _helped _you study, and expected that you'd be studying, because this is a school and that is why you'd be here, is to study, to get ahead in your career later. Unless your career was politics or upper management, in which case you were going to also be making acquaintances, and making your acquaintances into allies and perhaps your allies into friends. Perhaps Harriet should be doing some of that too, she might not need anything beyond a good education here to become an extremely valued member of the circus, but perhaps there would also the opportunity later to make the circus a valued institution to the wizarding world.

"Earth to Harriet, Hello Harriet."

"Sorry," said Harriet.

"Where did you go?"

"Home and into the deep future?"

"Anything interesting?" said Perks

"Does the term 'ambitious, yet without an ambition,' mean anything to you?"

"No,"

"Well never mind. Yes, I like it in slytherin, but I don't know many people at home who'd be happy there, except perhaps my Mum."

"Ah,"

"And perhaps only for short periods of time, in other words, ask me again in three months?"

"Alright," said Perks, "you think the hat might have been speaking to him metaphorically,"

"Maybe, maybe not, but… some of the things the hat said to me were very … nuanced, it might have meant both of you that you were descended from Hufflepuff without telling either of you that you were the one and only heir, or whatever. You have to be careful what people say, the more _accurate_ they are trying to be, the more you have to pay attention to _every single word_ they say."

"Oh," said Perks, "Yeah, alright, And … I guess I'll do independent research to figure out if the hat knew what it was talking about."

"Also read Family First, and Magic Follows," said Harriet, "And a good etiquette book. If you decide to start acting from your status as pureblood, you're going to want to not be getting yourself in trouble and outcast from all society instead of just your family. I mean, mudblood means ignorant, blood traitor means either wilfully ignorant, or selfish and shirking one's obligations to society."

"Ew," said Perks.

"Exactly," said Harriet.

**Brooms**

Charms the next day was awesome, even if there was quite a bit of theory in between the many demonstrations and the small amount of actual practical. Then came History of Magic, for the first half hour Harriet paid attention, because it was taught by a ghost, not that she paid attention to what he said, just to him saying it.

When she realised the difference she looked down and pulled out a notebook, but she had no idea where to start taking notes. When she looked around to see who she might be able to copy from later she noticed that all the gryffindors were nodding off, and all the hufflepuffs were already asleep. And all the ravenclaws weren't taking notes, they were reading. Some from the history text, some from other textbooks, and Padma from a muggle book.

She looked at the teacher. He didn't seem to notice. Even when several hufflepuff boys started waking up and playing gobstones in the aisle he didn't seem to notice.

She'd have to talk to her prefect about how she was expected to behave in history class, or if she even needed to attend.

...

Later, her prefect said that they didn't need to attend, but that being in the library studying was the only other acceptable use of her time. Also that she was expected to pass all her exams in spite of incomprehensible teachers or for that matter bored to death teachers.

The hint was also given that having history right after lunch had the advantage of allowing for a nice nap and a mostly quiet study hall, in which no one would yell at you for napping, and no one would take points off you for collaborating with your study group.

That appeared to be the exact advice that the Hufflepuffs had gotten, and not far off from what the Ravenclaws were doing.

Harriet was glad for a second time she hadn't been sorted into Gryffindor, they'd seemed anxious to prove their interest in whatever that battle was. Harriet couldn't fathom what the creatures were that had participated, let alone the abilities and therefore tactics that followed from there.

The question was, would the history book be any better?

...

The next day was better, potions again, and then herbology.

Neville (or his partner, it still hadn't been clear whose mistake had caused the excitement on Monday) refrained from making any explosive mistakes.

Even without Draco for a partner Harriet had managed to finish her potion ahead of most of the class. She really did need to take the job of ingredients gatherer enough times in a row that she would actually figure out the professor's organisational method.

Harriet stayed after class to show Professor Snape her list. He listened intently in spite of his sneer, to her explanation of how she _was _interested in helping potions accident victims find their way to the hospital wing, and _especially _in watching the nurse work. But there were potions in the textbook that she _hadn__'t _had sufficient practice with and she'd appreciate if he neglected to send her away when they were working on those potions.

"Would you also prefer that I assign your detentions, if any, to the hospital wing?" he said.

"I hadn't thought of that," she said, "I hadn't intended to have any detentions."

"I _don__'t _expect you to start," he said, "but there are certain pupils who think that the only good slytherin is a whimpering one, if you run into any I expect you to finish it if you can do so without risk to yourself or your reputation, a state of affairs which may not arise for several years. Otherwise stay out of sight and summon a teacher or a prefect. But if you do get caught, 'doing the right thing,' shall we say, I reserve the right to be lenient, if I see a good method."

"And giving a detention instead of losing house points is an excellent method," smirked Harriet.

His sneer intensified.

...

When they arrived at the greenhouses Neville had been in ecstasy looking around and pointing out most of the plants identifying them and listing their most important uses. It was like the information dump in defence against the dark arts on Monday, except Neville was excited instead of lisping or stuttering, and that his recitals were cut short after only eight minutes by the arrival of Professor Sprout, who ran a tight no nonsense class.

Harriet approved. So, it seemed, did Neville.

...

Then flying lessons, Harriet had looked forward to the possibility of flying together with Hedwig, but before they even really got started Neville broke his wrist.

Harriet almost went after them but Draco caught her shoulder, and whispered, "she said 'stay here,' she meant it, you can tell her that you don't mind being Neville's nursemaid _after _you learn to fly."

"Alright," said Harriet, "and I have no desire to be his nursemaid, just his … crutch and guide while he's too far in shock to see his way to the hospital wing. I know what it's like to be in shock from a bad fall."

"Hmm," he said.

"Also, safety nets are a common sense precaution, I don't see why we're not using them for this, though I suppose it would take a bit of prescience to have figured out where he would have landed."

"Both good points," whispered Draco.

"Umm boss," said Goyle, tugging his sleeve and Draco was gone.

...

Harriet turned back to the group, watching with concealed interest the Gryffindors egging each other on to feats of daring or discouraging each other from breaking Madam Hooch's very clear and precise orders. She set herself the pointless exercise of picking out a trapeze team from among them. The most daring for the jumpers. The most conscientious for the catchers. What about the throwers? Best rhythm? Least sweaty?

A redhead stepped forward and called out, "That's not yours, Malfoy. Give it here!"

The redhead that had been sorted just before Mr. Zabini. Something that sounded uncomfortable but not catching.

"It's not yours either, and I shan't," said Draco. He sounded uncomfortable, but not about to back down.

The crowd was drifting in to look, but not getting too close. The effect was that they were forming into a ring, and Draco didn't look like he wanted any part of the fight that seemed imminent.

The redhead didn't look like he was going to back down for anything simple.

And Draco's eyes darted around, looking for a solution that would keep violence to a minimum.

Zabini was trying to motion Crabbe or Goyle forward to protect their 'boss' but they didn't want any part of the redhead, who was almost as overweight as either of them, but he seemed to be a slightly higher percentage muscle, and if he was brought up by the twins who'd thrown her locker up into the train so easily, those muscles might not be an illusion. More to the point, he might hold his own in a rough and tumble. Harriet had the feeling that Draco wouldn't have fared well, he didn't have any brothers to test himself against, and he'd never seemed to invite physical opposition from any of his male friends, even though several boys in just about every year had started acting out carefully in a way that Harriet had long ago identified as, "little boys hugging their friends without letting on,"

She figured that would go on increasing as they either became homesick, or found an equilibrium they were comfortable with.

But Draco wasn't like that, and he would be in trouble if it came to blows.

Several of the gryffindors seemed as appalled by what they saw coming as she was. But none of them seemed to know how to stop it.

Neither did she. She knew several of her older cousins were trained in how to get the mundanes to stop fighting or quickly convince them to take it away from the more fragile wagons. But she wasn't trained, she probably wouldn't be, not looking intimidating enough or male, nor had she even sneaked under a handy wagon to eavesdrop on a such lessons.

What she _could _reason out was that, stepping in and tell them to 'stop behaving as little boys' would just set them off. No, she had to say something that would appease their honour as well as make them forget the possibility of a need for violence.

"Umm, pardon me, but what _is _the object in question?"

"Mr. Longbottom's remembrall," growled Draco.

Ron looked slightly surprised.

"Are you really both going to blacken each other's eyes over who gets the honour of returning it to him?"

Ron gaped.

"If it comes to that, perhaps," said Draco, "I don't see any reason why it should come to that."

"Neither do I," said Harriet, "especially since I haven't seen reason to believe that either of you are on first name basis with him."

Neither was she, but … well, she _almost _was.

"Oh," said Draco, "I suppose we could agree to appoint the task to someone,"

"Alright, who else is on a first name basis with Neville?" said Harriet she looked around purposely including the entire class, "or is already going by the infirmary after this anyway?"

"I think that's just you," said Zabini. _Excellent, he had seen where she was going, and read between the lines to complete his part of the script._

Draco turned the rest of the way away from the redhead, walked the three steps toward Harriet, reaching into his pocket at the same time. Ron took a step after him, but before he could make up his mind what to do, Draco had dropped a small glass ball into her hand and walked away.

Ron had been closing on them but seemed at a loss. He didn't seem to be in any mood to, as the saying went, 'hit a girl.'

He turned away, toward where Draco had gone back to where Blaise, Crabbe, and Goyle were huddled.

"Good show, hiding behind your woman, Malfoy!"

_Oh _that _was too much._

Draco stopped and straightened but did not turn around.

"No matter how you choose to calculate ownership, That _lady _is statistically much more likely to belong to my cousin, her sponsor, than to me."

"Quite," said Harriet, "Draco, do you have the requisite information or connections to provide me with the name of this imbecile?"

Draco turned around with his eyebrows in a quirk, "That imbecile has the _amazing good luck _to be my distant cousin, Ronald Bilius Weasley. We're related via the Prewett line, I'll show you a genealogy later."

"_Thank _you," said Harriet, "He does look it I suppose."

Draco turned away.

"_Mr._ Weasley," said Harriet. Ron turned half way back toward her. Harriet continued, "I don't think anyone is hiding behind anyone here, unless it's _you _hiding your desire for a fight behind Neville and his completely understandable inability to keep track of his things immediately after breaking his wrist."

Ron opened his mouth. But Harriet kept on going, "Not that I have anything against displays of physical prowess. I admit I've enjoyed watching various sports or … and even wrestling matches. But if you're going to involve yourself in violence, at least have the decency to pick an opponent with a similar amount of training as yourself."

Ron gritted his teeth for several seconds and then said, "what makes you think I've had any training?"

"I've met two of your brothers," said Harriet, "they don't seem the type to have let you come to school without giving you as much training as they knew how."

He blinked, "They never _called _it that," he said.

"No," Harriet agreed, "I didn't think they would have. I'm somewhat surprised that you didn't figured it out though."

"Stop calling me an idiot!" he said.

"Alright then," Harriet shrugged, "what shall I call you instead?"

He looked thoughtful, then perked up, "The chessmaster,"

Harriet felt her eyebrows climb involuntarily, 'chessmaster' like the Polgár sisters?

"You'll have to prove that too me before I can call you that," said Harriet, "What about in the meantime?"

"Umm," he said.

"How about Ron?" she said.

He smirked and shook his head ruefully, "sure, why not, but only until I beat you."

Harriet shook her head, "until you beat me six games in a row, and first game of the day doesn't count."

He blinked, then grinned, "until I beat you twenty games in a row, and first game of the day _does _count."

She nodded, "and no playing more than an hour and a half at a time."

He looked thoughtful, "Do you anticipate that meaning two games a day or three?"

She shrugged, "probably only two, I'm a little out of practice."

He nodded, "alright, where are we going to play?"

Harriet frowned, "I was about to say common room, but … I think we'd have to get a prefect's permission or something first."

"Probably," he said, "I'll ask Percy, he'd know. Then ask someone else for actual permission."

Harriet quirked an eyebrow. That sounded like he was actually attempting strategic thinking finally, actually so did asking her for twenty games instead of six. She hoped his manners weren't annoying enough that she'd start throwing games to get out of the ordeal earlier than she'd meant to.

"My brother is a prefect this year," he explained.

"How many of those redheads I saw on the platform belong to you?"

He looked puzzled, "depending on what you mean by 'belong' and whether you even saw the correct group of redheads, most of them were my brothers, one was my sister, and two were my parents."

Harriet grinned, and looked around surreptitiously, and leaned in to whisper, "Then you're the only one I've met here with a _proper _sized family."

He goggled at her, "How big is yours?"

"Two siblings so far," she shrugged, "but if most of Da's relations are anything to go by, there will be a minimum of two more before they decide to stop."

He nodded, "alright then," and turned toward the growing hum of conversation of the other pupils. Madam Hooch was returning.

The flying lesson went fairly well after that.

...

They played three chess games on Saturday after lunch, at the gryffindor table and negotiated the time limit to "Only stop a game at _two _hours, but don't start a new game after an hour and a half."

They played their next two games during history class. And another two the next Saturday.

Of the first five games, Harriet won two and fought a third to a draw. He'd been pathetically weak against the Hungarian styles.

At first.

After the second week, she didn't win any. She could see him improving slowly against her playing style, and she could feel herself making fewer and fewer mistakes against his play. But there was little doubt that she'd never beat him unless she could practice against someone even stronger.

Sometimes after he'd beaten her for the requisite length of time he would play Blaise or if he could convince them, Draco or Flint. But mostly only Blaise would consent to play.

Harriet had the feeling Blaise was practising _something_, to spend so much time loosing at chess, but she wasn't sure what, and she had the feeling it might not be chess.

On the other hand he seemed to win one game in five, compared to Harriet's rapidly dropping total of two games in 15.

...

"You'll never catch him that way," said Pansy one day,

"What way?" said Harriet, "catch who?

"Make him come to slytherin table, if he's so interested in improving his game."

"Hmm," said Harriet.

"My sister has all sorts of books on influencing people, you should read them."

"What makes you think that I'd want to?"

"I thought you had some talent at it the first week when you talked Weasley down and made him defend his reputation by playing chess with you," said Pansy, "but you haven't done anything recently that impressed me."

"Pansy, not to let you down or anything, but I don't go through my day looking for ways to impress you."

"I still think you'd like the book," said Pansy, "Do you want me to go borrow it for you?"

"Why don't you borrow it for yourself?" said Tracy, "Harriet, you can study over here if you're having trouble concentrating over there."

"Thanks," said Harriet.

**Interlude**

"Headmaster, I have some news, not sure if it's good or bad, it feels bad I guess, but I think it may help us focus our efforts."

Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, CW and HM to the ICW, but more importantly the Headmaster of Hogwarts, sighed, "How bad can it be?"

"Perhaps the worst possible, regarding the last war and the Potter heir."

Dumbledore sat up, "Go on."

"According to the Miss Matirni, her cousin has not yet _faced_ the last dark lord. The man was blasted by the family magic Lily inherited from her maternal line."

"What is that supposed to mean? Her parents were muggles."

"Her parents were squibs from a long line of squibs, they _thought_ they were the most magical form of humans around, until their daughter manifested as a witch. Her mother dabbled in simple potions though she called it essential oils, her father dabbled in, shall we say, modern runes, though he called it self-help and personal management and leadership training."

"I'll take your word for it, those sound like muggle things to me."

"They are _supposed_ to sound like muggle things so that muggles will buy them without feeling frivolous," said Snape irritated, "After you refused Petunia Evans a place at Hogwarts she wrote all her living ancestors to find out where they'd acquired training. Then she contacted me and requested I research which of the venues she'd identified would be a best to get training from, or recommend a better situation if I noticed one in my research. As you know she ended up at the Matirni Travelling Circus selling potions, and playing at divination, though I think what she's actually practising is legilimency based emotional therapy or potions based healing, or both."

"Somehow that strikes me as in line with her personality."

"Yes, well," said Snape, "according to Miss Matirni, the family magic only passes via the maternal line, and becomes especially violent when provoked by things like, any of the line being murdered before producing a female heir."

"Perhaps a clever lie to protect herself?"

"Of course it _may_ only be that, but can we afford to not follow up on the implications, if Voldemort died at his own hand so to speak, then he has not faced either the Potter heir or the Longbottom heir. Either Voldemort wasn't the dark lord of the prophecy, or he shall return to die at the hand of … whichever of those children he is to mark as his equal."

"What is your strongest intuition?"

"Perhaps Voldemort wasn't the dark lord of prophecy, but if not the dark lord in question doesn't seem to have been doing much harm in the part of the world I live in, so that possibility doesn't need my worry. If he was, then he isn't dead, and … did you mention once that Abraxes Malfoy reminded you of Voldemort at a young age? Or was it Abraxes or Voldemort that let that titbit slip?"

Dumbledore frowned, "I suppose I can see the resemblance, though I don't think I'd have put it that strongly."

"Well I only met Harry Potter for about six minutes, but he reminded me strongly of Abraxes, in his prime, when I first met him, a decade and a half ago."

"Where was that?"

"On the platform as I left from second year, Lucius had been prefect and taken a special interest in me, so I made a special effort to part on respectfully positive terms, he took the opportunity to introduce me to his father."

"Hmm," said Dumbledore, "what part or parts of your impression of Harry prompts the comparison?"

"His stiff formality, his self-assurance in his aunt's potions lab as much as much as anywhere else, I don't know who's been raising him, I don't think it was Petunia, I can't imagine him acting that way unless he's been raised to believe that he owns that circus, and that Wizarding Britain owes itself to him as death compensation for what his parents managed. His father was arrogant enough to know he was a little lord. His son believes he's the second coming of Arthur or something equally deserving. AND he believes that everyone will try to take it from him unless he can prepare himself to hold onto it from the moment he declares himself."

"Do you think he's dark lord material?"

"Dark or Light, only time will tell, but he thinks England belongs to him, and he's going to take it if he can acquire the means to keep it."

"Do you think he can acquire the means?"

Snape shrugged, "I never acquired the means, though it wasn't precisely what I was looking for."

"Do you think he's looking for it?"

"I think he's looking to protect himself, and by that I mean, with the abandon that Alistor might give to that endeavour."

"Oh dear," said Dumbledore, "At only eleven?"

"If you mean would Alistor consider him cautious enough to deserve to live: no, not yet, I think. Though I'd expect he would take significantly less than the eighteen month average that Alistor believes is standard before new recruits become just paranoid enough to be safe to take outside without a babysitter," said Snape, "By my estimation only once he is confident in his defences will he venture out into the sad world of making enemies or allowing people to take notice of him."

"Then he _is _Tom's equal."

"Then we must at all costs avoid giving him offence or becoming his enemies," said Snape, "If at all possible we should be attempting to influence him toward playing the long game for the benefit of the world, not the short game for his own benefit."

"And how do you propose to do that, when I can't influence him at all?"

"Who says you have no influence?" said Snape, "you have the same influence that the Malfoys and I have, His cousin and I infer, his agent, and perhaps his research assistant: Harriet Matirni."

"And she's already in slytherin."

"It was a calculated move, I don't doubt," said Snape, "she had a choice between following either of her acquaintances from home to Gryffindor or Ravenclaw, or her two cousins to Hufflepuff or Slytherin, she chose Draco over Tonks, but between you and me, when they first met, Draco was in a much better position to make a good impression."

Dumbledore hummed and steepled his fingers.

"Also she might have inferred the same as I have, that of those four friends, Draco is the most likely to have shunned her for being in a different house."

"Ah," said Dumbledore, "you would have placed her in hufflepuff? Yet she convinced the hat to put her in slytherin."

"I'm sorry let me be more clear, she is a hufflepuff by nature, and a slytherin by … the habits gained from living in a squib school that must keep itself ever hidden from the eyes of its muggle customers. And I presume now keeping a secret that Harry Potter (the great and terrible!) paid her tuition and is expecting her to do his bidding should he ever feel the need to give her orders."

"And the Malfoys?"

"Were merely doing the proper pureblood thing of cataloguing muggleborns for conversion. Draco noticed her and tried to verify that another pureblood had gotten to her first, she said 'yes' but complained he hadn't been very informative, so they convinced her to read their tracts and send them to Potter as well."

"And did she?"

"Given that since she's come here I see her curtsying instead of shaking hands, and keeping her hair tied back as severely as MacGonagall, I'm surprised you can ask that."

"How far lost is she?"

"I've heard her use the term mudblood as a descriptive, but never as a pejorative."

"I'm afraid I'm not familiar with the difference you're highlighting,"

"It's the difference between calling someone a savage to mean ignorant and physically active, rather than stupid and violent."

"You're saying that for her it is a logical adjective, not an emotional adjective?"

"Logical category, not an emotional title. Yes, that's what I'm saying. Also I want to point out that she has gone out of her way to befriend at least two pupils that Draco would have called a mudblood and a blood traitor, respectively, a month ago. And since then she's influenced Draco to speak respectfully to both of them."

"Ah, hmm. If Draco looks at the friendship as a chance for mutual research or mutual contact sharing, she may have a chance to influence the Malfoy line as well."

"Perhaps,"

"Do you have a suggestion you're dying to make?"

"There is one other method open to me, though it might close if I attempt too much," said Snape, "Petunia Matirni nee Evans still considers me a friend of the family."

"If you happen to find a pretext for visiting now and then, you might drop hints about wanting to know about Potter and the training he is receiving. You don't even have to imply you care which school it is, just find out reputation attributes, and ought you send him supplemental text in this subject or that, or what teachers are his favourites, the name of a favourite professor or a complaint about particularly dangerous exercises performed in defence might be enough for us to identify the school in question."

"Quite so," said Snape, "how much of a hurry are you to find him?"

Dumbledore waved his hand, "I can try to send him an owl any time I wish, just like anyone else. That's not the question, the question is what and whose influence is he under and do any deficiencies in training need to be supplemented. Or if we happen to have allies in his school, can they be influenced to steer him toward the light if they haven't started already?"

"I understand, is this an 'I thought I'd invite you over during the Christmas Holidays to talk about your daughter, my goddaughter, and her life at school' sort of time frame, or is it more of a 'before third year' or is it, 'almost immediately,' sort of thing?"

"Well," said Dumbledore, "I don't want you to cancel your afternoon classes to break down her door, and it sounds like we're much too late to try to make sure his first impression of the wizarding world is charming and wonderful. Perhaps Christmas is soon enough, though I'd worry less if I knew where he is and who might be influencing him."

"I don't think he'll be easily influenced farther than he wishes to be," said Snape, "But I also would feel safer knowing that he's not going to … Durmstrang, shall we say."

"Durmstrang is a rigorous school," said Dumbledore judiciously, "but you're right, if he's already … cold it would be better if he learned light before he learned dark."

"I think that I was more worried about the mercilessness of their teachers more than the subject matter," said Snape, "Like I said, I believe I would find it difficult to influence him farther than he would wish to be influenced."

**{End Chapter 7}**


	7. Professors, in their native habitat(s)

**{Disclaimer}**

_If you recognise it from somewhere else, then I almost certainly don__'t own it. When Harriet references characters you don't know, take it as an invitation to catch up on your Shakespeare._

_If you wish to help beta this or future works me please contact me. If you find a spelling or grammar error that takes you out of the story, feel free to tell me about it, though if it__'s inside quotes it _might _be intended as characterisation and I might choose not to fix it. I did my best to use UK spelling and phrasing over US, but assume there are lapses, if you have further suggestions regarding that I__'m open to consider them._

_If there are scenes or one liners that you would like to see with these versions of these characters in future years feel free to send me those as well, no promises. Ditto if I missed obvious allusions to Shakespeare in conversations where characters would have indulged._

_There is already at least one companion OMAKE story in progress. _

_Based on feedback I am re-releasing this in smaller sections, Thanks for the feedback. I apologise for the hyphens it seems the most effective way to keep my line breaks where they belong._

…

_This is an story about who Harry might be, in an AU that diverges before Lily and Snape go to Hogwarts. The divergence starts when Petunia is given a book called __'The Thirteen Clocks' by James Thurber. She finds the formula used by it's protagonists, "If X must be done, and cannot be done by method Y, then it must be attempted by a method not-Y," to be infinitely more useful than "If at first you don't succeed, try try again," and of course she lives too early to have heard the early 21 century buzzword version of the adage, "Fail better."_

_Because of this strategy she manages to gain Snape__'s respect and help, though not the friendship for which she had originally been jealous. With access to his research and aid she managed to gain entrance to a different magical community. A community made up of contented squibs rather than jealous ones._

_..._

_Enjoy,_

_H. Bregalad_

**Classes**

Potions class was somehow exactly what Harriet expected, and somewhat disappointing.

Professor Snape had quizzed a few of them before they started, and been pleased with her first several answers, not so much with some of the gryffindors. Finally they started brewing. Which had not lasted long. Neville's cauldron blew up and Draco went to help him even before Professor Snape started to assign someone else. Then he saw the state of Harriet and Draco's potion and told Harriet to go, and for Draco to finish on his own.

...

It took her half way to the infirmary before Harriet realised that meant he knew she could finish the potion and wanted to let Draco have practice too. She really ought to look through the book a third time, and this time make a list of the potions she _didn__'t _have years of practice with, so that she could explain to the Professor why she'd rather if he didn't mess up her chances to practice when those were scheduled.

Yes, that should work, present it as a weakness she intended to remedy rather than a boast, he seemed to respond better that way sometimes.

...

Or he had sent her because he trusted her taking Neville to the infirmary?

"How bad is it?" she whispered.

"Hurts," said Neville, "about like bubotuber pus, only hot, and not feeling like it's spreading deeper."

Harriet shuddered.

They reached the infirmary, and Harriet explained what she knew so that Neville wouldn't have to talk. He seemed like he was having trouble with that.

Then she backed out of the way and watched as the nurse performed several spells with her wand, and then poured two vials of potions into his mouth, and applied a some from a third vial directly on the burn.

Neville seemed to be breathe easier after that.

It was several minutes before the burn started to vanish.

By that time an older pupil came in with some sort of woody leaf stuck through his hand, and trying to wiggle back out. Or deeper in, Harriet couldn't quite tell.

The nurse cut most of the leaf off, both above and below the intersection, and then began tugging. When that availed nothing she started asking what kind of plant it was.

The pupil had already fainted.

"It looks like Begging Astelia," said Neville, "if you feed it butter, or offer it silver, it's supposed to retreat."

"Hmm," said the Nurse and summoned a tiny ugly creature and asked him to fetch her an ounce of butter. It vanished again.

Before it returned the nurse disappeared into her office and reappeared with some money.

It didn't take long for the rest of the 'leaf' to be convinced to come out. It looked more like a twig and several bits of leaf to Harriet.

After the nurse incinerated all the fragments, she cleaned and dressed the wound, all with magic. Then woke the patient, again with magic. And got him to take two potions.

...

After that she returned to Neville, complemented his quick identification of the plant and sent them to the great hall for lunch.

"I must admit," said Harriet as they explored in the direction that the great hall ought to have existed in, "the nurse's magic looked a lot more interesting than potions,"

"Hmm," said Neville, "You, Umm, don't like potions either?"

Harriet shrugged, "I like them just fine, but I can brew at home, I'm not allowed to practice with my wand at home."

"Ah," said Neville, "From what I understand we can practice anything in the classrooms but not in the hall."

"What about outside?"

"If that's the sort of plant they have outside, I'd be careful outside." He said.

"Maybe that's why the forbidden forest is forbidden?" said Harriet.

"I sort of got the idea that the forbidden forest is full of dangerous _animals_."

"Oh," said Harriet, "you know all sorts of useful trivia,"

Neville shrugged, "people talk a lot, if they don't talk to _me_ they forget I'm listening."

"Maybe," said Harriet.

...

Lunch was almost as odd as the feast the previous night. There wasn't as much of it, but some of the dishes seemed showy for no particular purpose, like something the diners would put on for the mundanes. Except more so, vegetables that sparkled, sausages with glowy bits, deserts that were beautifully savoury one bite out of five.

After that came defence against the dark arts. Which seemed to be two hours of possibly useful trivia with no overriding goal or organisation. Harriet hadn't thought anything could be more disorganised than the book they were teaching from, but she was wrong, that lecture felt like someone reading through a address book, except instead of a name and an address and a telephone number, each entry comprised something dangerous, and the top three ways of neutralising the threat, without any discussion of why other seemingly commonsense alternatives _weren__'t _better.

Harriet had no idea how she would memorise any of it, nor how, even if she did, it would be of any help to her if she ever landed in any of the situations mentioned.

On her way out her arm was caught from behind and she spun around. It was only Perks.

"Hiya Perks," Harriet said.

"Hello, Matirni," said Perks.

"What's up?"

"Can we go somewhere private?" muttered Perks.

_I don__'t know if there is anywhere around here like that._

"Umm," said Harriet, "I'm on my way to the washroom?"

Perks nodded and fell in beside her.

As soon as the door closed Perks ducked and glanced under the stalls to verify that they were alone. "I figured out who my half-brother is, and I'm _not_ impressed."

"Oh?"

"And apparently I'm heir of the Hufflepuff line, Or at least that's what the sorting hat said, and the picture over the fireplace calls me granddaughter instead of daughter like she calls all the other girls."

"Huh," said Harriet.

"Zechariah Smith has been gaining a following claiming to be the heir of Hufflepuff. I thought something was off about him even before I figured out that Hufflepuff talks to him differently also."

"Off _how_ exactly?" said Harriet.

"He acts the way your friend Draco acted between class and lunch."

"Hmm," said Harriet.

"I have no idea how to deal with that, I'm not going to be following him around like the others are, he's my little brother for … 'for Merlin's sake' and I refuse. But I don't want them all following _me _around either. And I don't want him to resent me for stealing his group, but… but eventually they're going to figure out that Grandmother acknowledges me and that my birthday is earlier. And I don't want them to figure out about Dad being an idiot."

"I don't know enough about your parents to know exactly how much of an idiot either of them might have been," said Harriet, "but what can you do about any of it?"

Harriet stopped and tried to think, there was _so_ much she didn't know about how status could be projected and calculated around here. "I haven't a clue about that either," said Harriet, "if I was in that situation I'd ask for advice from Tonks, or even Draco."

"I don't want Tonks following me around, and I don't know Draco well enough."

"I think Draco would be more likely to follow you around than Tonks would be."

"Hmm, interesting point," she said, "Tonks could ignore my ancestry, she already proved that on the train. And Draco was creepy in between the times when he figured out how to act from how you and Tonks were acting."

"Yeah," said Harriet, "he thinks I care about magical ancestry because I tend to notice ancestry from facial features, because of the acting and makeup thing that Tonks was worried about."

"And the whole wizarding world cares about magical ancestry?"

Harriet shrugged, "The whole pureblood caste cares about magical ancestry because it is their responsibility to uphold the social order by identifying the muggleborns and making sure that they receive every chance to become integrated into the social order."

"You say that like it's honourable to make converts,"

Harriet shrugged, "imagine if a third of the government was tasked with just naturalisation. But anyway, I get the feeling that a lot of it tones down after the first year or two of being integrated, and then it's just a safety net for four generations, by which time you should have a safety net by your own family ties instead of by the family ties of your sponsor's house."

"You're thinking that this is just … what the wizarding world does instead of education and welfare taxes?"

"That's what it looks like to me, so claim muggleborn status to get the goodies, or claim your ancestry to get to call yourself one of the six oldest families in the kingdom, but it comes at the price of always looking for muggleborns to take care of."

"Oh, dear," said Perks, "Oh dear-oh dear-oh dear!"

"Yeah," said Harriet, "My sponsor's line is like a third as old as your line, but I'm not allowed to mention it, I'm only allowed to say that the House of Black is mentoring me for them."

"That's pretty crazy too," said Perks, "now I'm even less sure where to start."

"Start with a Smith genealogy, and a letter to your Mum," said Harriet, "figure out for sure whether this Smith kid is your half-brother or a cousin or something, and anything else you can use to prove whether you or Smith are the rightful heir of Hufflepuff, and you might check for a difference in magical heritage compared to just family legitimacy or whatever, sometimes they differ. By 'magical heritage' I mean you might have a bit of extra talent because of who your parents were, and even how many children they might have had, or not had before you. By mundane heritage I mean things like who you stand to inherit from and who you'll be expected to take care of despite having never met."

"Actually," said Perks, "he is saying that the hat told him, which is odd because the hat told me too."

"And you don't think it was speaking metaphorically?" said Harriet, "trying to convince you to accept the house that it already picked out for you?"

"No, it said I wouldn't be happy anywhere else, and it showed me … umm, no offence but do you _like_ being in slytherin?"

Harriet shrugged, it was cold, and the people were cold, but they studied and they _helped _you study, and expected that you'd be studying, because this is a school and that is why you'd be here, is to study, to get ahead in your career later. Unless your career was politics or upper management, in which case you were going to also be making acquaintances, and making your acquaintances into allies and perhaps your allies into friends. Perhaps Harriet should be doing some of that too, she might not need anything beyond a good education here to become an extremely valued member of the circus, but perhaps there would also the opportunity later to make the circus a valued institution to the wizarding world.

"Earth to Harriet, Hello Harriet."

"Sorry," said Harriet.

"Where did you go?"

"Home and into the deep future?"

"Anything interesting?" said Perks

"Does the term 'ambitious, yet without an ambition,' mean anything to you?"

"No,"

"Well never mind. Yes, I like it in slytherin, but I don't know many people at home who'd be happy there, except perhaps my Mum."

"Ah,"

"And perhaps only for short periods of time, in other words, ask me again in three months?"

"Alright," said Perks, "you think the hat might have been speaking to him metaphorically,"

"Maybe, maybe not, but… some of the things the hat said to me were very … nuanced, it might have meant both of you that you were descended from Hufflepuff without telling either of you that you were the one and only heir, or whatever. You have to be careful what people say, the more _accurate_ they are trying to be, the more you have to pay attention to _every single word_ they say."

"Oh," said Perks, "Yeah, alright, And … I guess I'll do independent research to figure out if the hat knew what it was talking about."

"Also read Family First, and Magic Follows," said Harriet, "And a good etiquette book. If you decide to start acting from your status as pureblood, you're going to want to not be getting yourself in trouble and outcast from all society instead of just your family. I mean, mudblood means ignorant, blood traitor means either wilfully ignorant, or selfish and shirking one's obligations to society."

"Ew," said Perks.

"Exactly," said Harriet.

**Brooms**

Charms the next day was awesome, even if there was quite a bit of theory in between the many demonstrations and the small amount of actual practical. Then came History of Magic, for the first half hour Harriet paid attention, because it was taught by a ghost, not that she paid attention to what he said, just to him saying it.

When she realised the difference she looked down and pulled out a notebook, but she had no idea where to start taking notes. When she looked around to see who she might be able to copy from later she noticed that all the gryffindors were nodding off, and all the hufflepuffs were already asleep. And all the ravenclaws weren't taking notes, they were reading. Some from the history text, some from other textbooks, and Padma from a muggle book.

She looked at the teacher. He didn't seem to notice. Even when several hufflepuff boys started waking up and playing gobstones in the aisle he didn't seem to notice.

She'd have to talk to her prefect about how she was expected to behave in history class, or if she even needed to attend.

...

Later, her prefect said that they didn't need to attend, but that being in the library studying was the only other acceptable use of her time. Also that she was expected to pass all her exams in spite of incomprehensible teachers or for that matter bored to death teachers.

The hint was also given that having history right after lunch had the advantage of allowing for a nice nap and a mostly quiet study hall, in which no one would yell at you for napping, and no one would take points off you for collaborating with your study group.

That appeared to be the exact advice that the Hufflepuffs had gotten, and not far off from what the Ravenclaws were doing.

Harriet was glad for a second time she hadn't been sorted into Gryffindor, they'd seemed anxious to prove their interest in whatever that battle was. Harriet couldn't fathom what the creatures were that had participated, let alone the abilities and therefore tactics that followed from there.

The question was, would the history book be any better?

...

The next day was better, potions again, and then herbology.

Neville (or his partner, it still hadn't been clear whose mistake had caused the excitement on Monday) refrained from making any explosive mistakes.

Even without Draco for a partner Harriet had managed to finish her potion ahead of most of the class. She really did need to take the job of ingredients gatherer enough times in a row that she would actually figure out the professor's organisational method.

Harriet stayed after class to show Professor Snape her list. He listened intently in spite of his sneer, to her explanation of how she _was _interested in helping potions accident victims find their way to the hospital wing, and _especially _in watching the nurse work. But there were potions in the textbook that she _hadn__'t _had sufficient practice with and she'd appreciate if he neglected to send her away when they were working on those potions.

"Would you also prefer that I assign your detentions, if any, to the hospital wing?" he said.

"I hadn't thought of that," she said, "I hadn't intended to have any detentions."

"I _don__'t _expect you to start," he said, "but there are certain pupils who think that the only good slytherin is a whimpering one, if you run into any I expect you to finish it if you can do so without risk to yourself or your reputation, a state of affairs which may not arise for several years. Otherwise stay out of sight and summon a teacher or a prefect. But if you do get caught, 'doing the right thing,' shall we say, I reserve the right to be lenient, if I see a good method."

"And giving a detention instead of losing house points is an excellent method," smirked Harriet.

His sneer intensified.

...

When they arrived at the greenhouses Neville had been in ecstasy looking around and pointing out most of the plants identifying them and listing their most important uses. It was like the information dump in defence against the dark arts on Monday, except Neville was excited instead of lisping or stuttering, and that his recitals were cut short after only eight minutes by the arrival of Professor Sprout, who ran a tight no nonsense class.

Harriet approved. So, it seemed, did Neville.

...

Then flying lessons, Harriet had looked forward to the possibility of flying together with Hedwig, but before they even really got started Neville broke his wrist.

Harriet almost went after them but Draco caught her shoulder, and whispered, "she said 'stay here,' she meant it, you can tell her that you don't mind being Neville's nursemaid _after _you learn to fly."

"Alright," said Harriet, "and I have no desire to be his nursemaid, just his … crutch and guide while he's too far in shock to see his way to the hospital wing. I know what it's like to be in shock from a bad fall."

"Hmm," he said.

"Also, safety nets are a common sense precaution, I don't see why we're not using them for this, though I suppose it would take a bit of prescience to have figured out where he would have landed."

"Both good points," whispered Draco.

"Umm boss," said Goyle, tugging his sleeve and Draco was gone.

...

Harriet turned back to the group, watching with concealed interest the Gryffindors egging each other on to feats of daring or discouraging each other from breaking Madam Hooch's very clear and precise orders. She set herself the pointless exercise of picking out a trapeze team from among them. The most daring for the jumpers. The most conscientious for the catchers. What about the throwers? Best rhythm? Least sweaty?

A redhead stepped forward and called out, "That's not yours, Malfoy. Give it here!"

The redhead that had been sorted just before Mr. Zabini. Something that sounded uncomfortable but not catching.

"It's not yours either, and I shan't," said Draco. He sounded uncomfortable, but not about to back down.

The crowd was drifting in to look, but not getting too close. The effect was that they were forming into a ring, and Draco didn't look like he wanted any part of the fight that seemed imminent.

The redhead didn't look like he was going to back down for anything simple.

And Draco's eyes darted around, looking for a solution that would keep violence to a minimum.

Zabini was trying to motion Crabbe or Goyle forward to protect their 'boss' but they didn't want any part of the redhead, who was almost as overweight as either of them, but he seemed to be a slightly higher percentage muscle, and if he was brought up by the twins who'd thrown her locker up into the train so easily, those muscles might not be an illusion. More to the point, he might hold his own in a rough and tumble. Harriet had the feeling that Draco wouldn't have fared well, he didn't have any brothers to test himself against, and he'd never seemed to invite physical opposition from any of his male friends, even though several boys in just about every year had started acting out carefully in a way that Harriet had long ago identified as, "little boys hugging their friends without letting on,"

She figured that would go on increasing as they either became homesick, or found an equilibrium they were comfortable with.

But Draco wasn't like that, and he would be in trouble if it came to blows.

Several of the gryffindors seemed as appalled by what they saw coming as she was. But none of them seemed to know how to stop it.

Neither did she. She knew several of her older cousins were trained in how to get the mundanes to stop fighting or quickly convince them to take it away from the more fragile wagons. But she wasn't trained, she probably wouldn't be, not looking intimidating enough or male, nor had she even sneaked under a handy wagon to eavesdrop on a such lessons.

What she _could _reason out was that, stepping in and tell them to 'stop behaving as little boys' would just set them off. No, she had to say something that would appease their honour as well as make them forget the possibility of a need for violence.

"Umm, pardon me, but what _is _the object in question?"

"Mr. Longbottom's remembrall," growled Draco.

Ron looked slightly surprised.

"Are you really both going to blacken each other's eyes over who gets the honour of returning it to him?"

Ron gaped.

"If it comes to that, perhaps," said Draco, "I don't see any reason why it should come to that."

"Neither do I," said Harriet, "especially since I haven't seen reason to believe that either of you are on first name basis with him."

Neither was she, but … well, she _almost _was.

"Oh," said Draco, "I suppose we could agree to appoint the task to someone,"

"Alright, who else is on a first name basis with Neville?" said Harriet she looked around purposely including the entire class, "or is already going by the infirmary after this anyway?"

"I think that's just you," said Zabini. _Excellent, he had seen where she was going, and read between the lines to complete his part of the script._

Draco turned the rest of the way away from the redhead, walked the three steps toward Harriet, reaching into his pocket at the same time. Ron took a step after him, but before he could make up his mind what to do, Draco had dropped a small glass ball into her hand and walked away.

Ron had been closing on them but seemed at a loss. He didn't seem to be in any mood to, as the saying went, 'hit a girl.'

He turned away, toward where Draco had gone back to where Blaise, Crabbe, and Goyle were huddled.

"Good show, hiding behind your woman, Malfoy!"

_Oh _that _was too much._

Draco stopped and straightened but did not turn around.

"No matter how you choose to calculate ownership, That _lady _is statistically much more likely to belong to my cousin, her sponsor, than to me."

"Quite," said Harriet, "Draco, do you have the requisite information or connections to provide me with the name of this imbecile?"

Draco turned around with his eyebrows in a quirk, "That imbecile has the _amazing good luck _to be my distant cousin, Ronald Bilius Weasley. We're related via the Prewett line, I'll show you a genealogy later."

"_Thank _you," said Harriet, "He does look it I suppose."

Draco turned away.

"_Mr._ Weasley," said Harriet. Ron turned half way back toward her. Harriet continued, "I don't think anyone is hiding behind anyone here, unless it's _you _hiding your desire for a fight behind Neville and his completely understandable inability to keep track of his things immediately after breaking his wrist."

Ron opened his mouth. But Harriet kept on going, "Not that I have anything against displays of physical prowess. I admit I've enjoyed watching various sports or … and even wrestling matches. But if you're going to involve yourself in violence, at least have the decency to pick an opponent with a similar amount of training as yourself."

Ron gritted his teeth for several seconds and then said, "what makes you think I've had any training?"

"I've met two of your brothers," said Harriet, "they don't seem the type to have let you come to school without giving you as much training as they knew how."

He blinked, "They never _called _it that," he said.

"No," Harriet agreed, "I didn't think they would have. I'm somewhat surprised that you didn't figured it out though."

"Stop calling me an idiot!" he said.

"Alright then," Harriet shrugged, "what shall I call you instead?"

He looked thoughtful, then perked up, "The chessmaster,"

Harriet felt her eyebrows climb involuntarily, 'chessmaster' like the Polgár sisters?

"You'll have to prove that too me before I can call you that," said Harriet, "What about in the meantime?"

"Umm," he said.

"How about Ron?" she said.

He smirked and shook his head ruefully, "sure, why not, but only until I beat you."

Harriet shook her head, "until you beat me six games in a row, and first game of the day doesn't count."

He blinked, then grinned, "until I beat you twenty games in a row, and first game of the day _does _count."

She nodded, "and no playing more than an hour and a half at a time."

He looked thoughtful, "Do you anticipate that meaning two games a day or three?"

She shrugged, "probably only two, I'm a little out of practice."

He nodded, "alright, where are we going to play?"

Harriet frowned, "I was about to say common room, but … I think we'd have to get a prefect's permission or something first."

"Probably," he said, "I'll ask Percy, he'd know. Then ask someone else for actual permission."

Harriet quirked an eyebrow. That sounded like he was actually attempting strategic thinking finally, actually so did asking her for twenty games instead of six. She hoped his manners weren't annoying enough that she'd start throwing games to get out of the ordeal earlier than she'd meant to.

"My brother is a prefect this year," he explained.

"How many of those redheads I saw on the platform belong to you?"

He looked puzzled, "depending on what you mean by 'belong' and whether you even saw the correct group of redheads, most of them were my brothers, one was my sister, and two were my parents."

Harriet grinned, and looked around surreptitiously, and leaned in to whisper, "Then you're the only one I've met here with a _proper _sized family."

He goggled at her, "How big is yours?"

"Two siblings so far," she shrugged, "but if most of Da's relations are anything to go by, there will be a minimum of two more before they decide to stop."

He nodded, "alright then," and turned toward the growing hum of conversation of the other pupils. Madam Hooch was returning.

The flying lesson went fairly well after that.

...

They played three chess games on Saturday after lunch, at the gryffindor table and negotiated the time limit to "Only stop a game at _two _hours, but don't start a new game after an hour and a half."

They played their next two games during history class. And another two the next Saturday.

Of the first five games, Harriet won two and fought a third to a draw. He'd been pathetically weak against the Hungarian styles.

At first.

After the second week, she didn't win any. She could see him improving slowly against her playing style, and she could feel herself making fewer and fewer mistakes against his play. But there was little doubt that she'd never beat him unless she could practice against someone even stronger.

Sometimes after he'd beaten her for the requisite length of time he would play Blaise or if he could convince them, Draco or Flint. But mostly only Blaise would consent to play.

Harriet had the feeling Blaise was practising _something_, to spend so much time loosing at chess, but she wasn't sure what, and she had the feeling it might not be chess.

On the other hand he seemed to win one game in five, compared to Harriet's rapidly dropping total of two games in 15.

...

"You'll never catch him that way," said Pansy one day,

"What way?" said Harriet, "catch who?

"Make him come to slytherin table, if he's so interested in improving his game."

"Hmm," said Harriet.

"My sister has all sorts of books on influencing people, you should read them."

"What makes you think that I'd want to?"

"I thought you had some talent at it the first week when you talked Weasley down and made him defend his reputation by playing chess with you," said Pansy, "but you haven't done anything recently that impressed me."

"Pansy, not to let you down or anything, but I don't go through my day looking for ways to impress you."

"I still think you'd like the book," said Pansy, "Do you want me to go borrow it for you?"

"Why don't you borrow it for yourself?" said Tracy, "Harriet, you can study over here if you're having trouble concentrating over there."

"Thanks," said Harriet.

**Interlude**

"Headmaster, I have some news, not sure if it's good or bad, it feels bad I guess, but I think it may help us focus our efforts."

Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, CW and HM to the ICW, but more importantly the Headmaster of Hogwarts, sighed, "How bad can it be?"

"Perhaps the worst possible, regarding the last war and the Potter heir."

Dumbledore sat up, "Go on."

"According to the Miss Matirni, her cousin has not yet _faced_ the last dark lord. The man was blasted by the family magic Lily inherited from her maternal line."

"What is that supposed to mean? Her parents were muggles."

"Her parents were squibs from a long line of squibs, they _thought_ they were the most magical form of humans around, until their daughter manifested as a witch. Her mother dabbled in simple potions though she called it essential oils, her father dabbled in, shall we say, modern runes, though he called it self-help and personal management and leadership training."

"I'll take your word for it, those sound like muggle things to me."

"They are _supposed_ to sound like muggle things so that muggles will buy them without feeling frivolous," said Snape irritated, "After you refused Petunia Evans a place at Hogwarts she wrote all her living ancestors to find out where they'd acquired training. Then she contacted me and requested I research which of the venues she'd identified would be a best to get training from, or recommend a better situation if I noticed one in my research. As you know she ended up at the Matirni Travelling Circus selling potions, and playing at divination, though I think what she's actually practising is legilimency based emotional therapy or potions based healing, or both."

"Somehow that strikes me as in line with her personality."

"Yes, well," said Snape, "according to Miss Matirni, the family magic only passes via the maternal line, and becomes especially violent when provoked by things like, any of the line being murdered before producing a female heir."

"Perhaps a clever lie to protect herself?"

"Of course it _may_ only be that, but can we afford to not follow up on the implications, if Voldemort died at his own hand so to speak, then he has not faced either the Potter heir or the Longbottom heir. Either Voldemort wasn't the dark lord of the prophecy, or he shall return to die at the hand of … whichever of those children he is to mark as his equal."

"What is your strongest intuition?"

"Perhaps Voldemort wasn't the dark lord of prophecy, but if not the dark lord in question doesn't seem to have been doing much harm in the part of the world I live in, so that possibility doesn't need my worry. If he was, then he isn't dead, and … did you mention once that Abraxes Malfoy reminded you of Voldemort at a young age? Or was it Abraxes or Voldemort that let that titbit slip?"

Dumbledore frowned, "I suppose I can see the resemblance, though I don't think I'd have put it that strongly."

"Well I only met Harry Potter for about six minutes, but he reminded me strongly of Abraxes, in his prime, when I first met him, a decade and a half ago."

"Where was that?"

"On the platform as I left from second year, Lucius had been prefect and taken a special interest in me, so I made a special effort to part on respectfully positive terms, he took the opportunity to introduce me to his father."

"Hmm," said Dumbledore, "what part or parts of your impression of Harry prompts the comparison?"

"His stiff formality, his self-assurance in his aunt's potions lab as much as much as anywhere else, I don't know who's been raising him, I don't think it was Petunia, I can't imagine him acting that way unless he's been raised to believe that he owns that circus, and that Wizarding Britain owes itself to him as death compensation for what his parents managed. His father was arrogant enough to know he was a little lord. His son believes he's the second coming of Arthur or something equally deserving. AND he believes that everyone will try to take it from him unless he can prepare himself to hold onto it from the moment he declares himself."

"Do you think he's dark lord material?"

"Dark or Light, only time will tell, but he thinks England belongs to him, and he's going to take it if he can acquire the means to keep it."

"Do you think he can acquire the means?"

Snape shrugged, "I never acquired the means, though it wasn't precisely what I was looking for."

"Do you think he's looking for it?"

"I think he's looking to protect himself, and by that I mean, with the abandon that Alistor might give to that endeavour."

"Oh dear," said Dumbledore, "At only eleven?"

"If you mean would Alistor consider him cautious enough to deserve to live: no, not yet, I think. Though I'd expect he would take significantly less than the eighteen month average that Alistor believes is standard before new recruits become just paranoid enough to be safe to take outside without a babysitter," said Snape, "By my estimation only once he is confident in his defences will he venture out into the sad world of making enemies or allowing people to take notice of him."

"Then he _is _Tom's equal."

"Then we must at all costs avoid giving him offence or becoming his enemies," said Snape, "If at all possible we should be attempting to influence him toward playing the long game for the benefit of the world, not the short game for his own benefit."

"And how do you propose to do that, when I can't influence him at all?"

"Who says you have no influence?" said Snape, "you have the same influence that the Malfoys and I have, His cousin and I infer, his agent, and perhaps his research assistant: Harriet Matirni."

"And she's already in slytherin."

"It was a calculated move, I don't doubt," said Snape, "she had a choice between following either of her acquaintances from home to Gryffindor or Ravenclaw, or her two cousins to Hufflepuff or Slytherin, she chose Draco over Tonks, but between you and me, when they first met, Draco was in a much better position to make a good impression."

Dumbledore hummed and steepled his fingers.

"Also she might have inferred the same as I have, that of those four friends, Draco is the most likely to have shunned her for being in a different house."

"Ah," said Dumbledore, "you would have placed her in hufflepuff? Yet she convinced the hat to put her in slytherin."

"I'm sorry let me be more clear, she is a hufflepuff by nature, and a slytherin by … the habits gained from living in a squib school that must keep itself ever hidden from the eyes of its muggle customers. And I presume now keeping a secret that Harry Potter (the great and terrible!) paid her tuition and is expecting her to do his bidding should he ever feel the need to give her orders."

"And the Malfoys?"

"Were merely doing the proper pureblood thing of cataloguing muggleborns for conversion. Draco noticed her and tried to verify that another pureblood had gotten to her first, she said 'yes' but complained he hadn't been very informative, so they convinced her to read their tracts and send them to Potter as well."

"And did she?"

"Given that since she's come here I see her curtsying instead of shaking hands, and keeping her hair tied back as severely as MacGonagall, I'm surprised you can ask that."

"How far lost is she?"

"I've heard her use the term mudblood as a descriptive, but never as a pejorative."

"I'm afraid I'm not familiar with the difference you're highlighting,"

"It's the difference between calling someone a savage to mean ignorant and physically active, rather than stupid and violent."

"You're saying that for her it is a logical adjective, not an emotional adjective?"

"Logical category, not an emotional title. Yes, that's what I'm saying. Also I want to point out that she has gone out of her way to befriend at least two pupils that Draco would have called a mudblood and a blood traitor, respectively, a month ago. And since then she's influenced Draco to speak respectfully to both of them."

"Ah, hmm. If Draco looks at the friendship as a chance for mutual research or mutual contact sharing, she may have a chance to influence the Malfoy line as well."

"Perhaps,"

"Do you have a suggestion you're dying to make?"

"There is one other method open to me, though it might close if I attempt too much," said Snape, "Petunia Matirni nee Evans still considers me a friend of the family."

"If you happen to find a pretext for visiting now and then, you might drop hints about wanting to know about Potter and the training he is receiving. You don't even have to imply you care which school it is, just find out reputation attributes, and ought you send him supplemental text in this subject or that, or what teachers are his favourites, the name of a favourite professor or a complaint about particularly dangerous exercises performed in defence might be enough for us to identify the school in question."

"Quite so," said Snape, "how much of a hurry are you to find him?"

Dumbledore waved his hand, "I can try to send him an owl any time I wish, just like anyone else. That's not the question, the question is what and whose influence is he under and do any deficiencies in training need to be supplemented. Or if we happen to have allies in his school, can they be influenced to steer him toward the light if they haven't started already?"

"I understand, is this an 'I thought I'd invite you over during the Christmas Holidays to talk about your daughter, my goddaughter, and her life at school' sort of time frame, or is it more of a 'before third year' or is it, 'almost immediately,' sort of thing?"

"Well," said Dumbledore, "I don't want you to cancel your afternoon classes to break down her door, and it sounds like we're much too late to try to make sure his first impression of the wizarding world is charming and wonderful. Perhaps Christmas is soon enough, though I'd worry less if I knew where he is and who might be influencing him."

"I don't think he'll be easily influenced farther than he wishes to be," said Snape, "But I also would feel safer knowing that he's not going to … Durmstrang, shall we say."

"Durmstrang is a rigorous school," said Dumbledore judiciously, "but you're right, if he's already … cold it would be better if he learned light before he learned dark."

"I think that I was more worried about the mercilessness of their teachers more than the subject matter," said Snape, "Like I said, I believe I would find it difficult to influence him farther than he would wish to be influenced."

**{End Chapter 7}**


	8. Correspondence

**{Disclaimer}**

_If you recognise it from somewhere else, then I almost certainly don__'t own it. When Harriet references characters you don't know, take it as an invitation to catch up on your Shakespeare._

_If you wish to help beta this or future works me please contact me. If you find a spelling or grammar error that takes you out of the story, feel free to tell me about it, though if it__'s inside quotes it _might _be intended as characterisation and I might choose not to fix it. I did my best to use UK spelling and phrasing over US, but assume there are lapses, if you have further suggestions regarding that I__'m open to consider them._

_If there are scenes or one liners that you would like to see with these versions of these characters in future years feel free to send me those as well, no promises. Ditto if I missed obvious allusions to Shakespeare in conversations where characters would have indulged._

_There is already at least one companion OMAKE story in progress. _

_Based on feedback I am re-releasing this in smaller sections, Thanks for the feedback. I apologise for the hyphens it seems the most effective way to keep my line breaks where they belong._

…

_This is an story about who Harry might be, in an AU that diverges before Lily and Snape go to Hogwarts. The divergence starts when Petunia is given a book called __'The Thirteen Clocks' by James Thurber. She finds the formula used by it's protagonists, "If X must be done, and cannot be done by method Y, then it must be attempted by a method not-Y," to be infinitely more useful than "If at first you don't succeed, try try again," and of course she lives too early to have heard the early 21 century buzzword version of the adage, "Fail better."_

_Because of this strategy she manages to gain Snape__'s respect and help, though not the friendship for which she had originally been jealous. With access to his research and aid she managed to gain entrance to a different magical community. A community made up of contented squibs rather than jealous ones._

_..._

_Enjoy,_

_H. Bregalad_

**Letter**

Harriet was startled out of her revere when a letter dropped into her eggs, "Oh my," she said and wiped it off to see if it was actually addressed to her. It wasn't. She tucked it quickly into her sleeve.

"So who's writing you?" said Pansy from across the table and two seats down.

"Not to me," said Harriet, "Owls and people have been using me to deliver letters to particularly scary people since before I could read addresses. Is there a sign on my forehead head or my back that says, 'brave enough to deliver bad news, use her, you coward,'?"

Pansy looked, "No there isn't. Since before you could read?"

Harriet nodded.

"Perhaps you used to be so cute, that it was assumed that you wouldn't get blamed for delivering bad news."

Harriet shrugged with a shy smile, "that might be what the people thought, but what's up with the owls?"

"How often does it happen?"

Harriet shrugged, "twice in six months if we restrict it to owls."

"It looked like one of the school owls," said Pansy, "So it may have been local sender."

Harriet felt her eyes widen involuntarily and brought them under control. Harriet looked around to see if anyone was looking at her.

No one was. The only thing suspicious was that Professor Snape was looking at the Ravenclaw table, but that could be anything from being in a conversation with another teacher on that side of him, or any pupil in Ravenclaw … or any other pupil in slytherin for that matter.

Professor Snape was like that, but then she could be also when she thought there was a need.

She let her eyes wander over the room again, and looked down for another bite of eggs. Before she shrugged and looked at Pansy again, "If I wanted to make sure no letters that were trying to come to me actually got to me, is there a charm for that. Or to be more complex, if I don't want any letters except from my mum, is that possible to set up?"

Pansy crossed her eyes, then shrugged, "how should I know, ask a Ravenclaw prefect."

"And more to the point can it be removed again, or can I confront the person whose mail I'm getting the most of and get him to pay me for delivering them."

Pansy grinned, "I'd do _that _in any case," she said then looked thoughtful, "either negotiate for a salary, or charge him ransom for every letter, depending on whether you want him to stop making his mail drop in your eggs, or whether you need the stable income."

"Hmm," said Harriet.

"Remember," Pansy said after a moment, "if they're dropping in your eggs because he doesn't want them either, then you may have to hold it ransom differently, threaten to forward them all to the daily prophet or something."

"Evil," said Harriet, "especially if it's fan mail— Oh wait."

"What?"

"It probably _is _fan mail, and there's not nearly enough of it, which means I might be a step in a long chain of sorters and filterers."

Pansy looked startled.

"Or after I delivered the first one, I might be some smart ass's shortcut around said fan-mail filtering system."

"Who?" said Pansy.

"No, I won't deliver your fan mail too, don't even think about it."

"Fine but who?" said Pansy.

"I'm afraid we're not good enough friends yet," Harriet said.

Pansy opened her mouth to retort, or to offer to share a secret in payment, then she remembered where they were and thought the better of it.

So perhaps it had been the right thing to say. Or the wrong thing, depending on whether she really wanted Pansy to be her friend.

Harriet suppressed a sigh, if she didn't miss her guess Pansy would be hounding her for a week. Or until she admitted who.

Maybe if Pansy proposed finding a warded room and a promise of secrecy?

...

"Greetings Harry,

"I was surprised to hear that you'd decided that not to attend Hogwarts, the best school of magic in Europe, perhaps the world. Even more surprised when I was informed that your reasoning was mainly with regards to your safety. I was surprised, not because safety is not a concern to me, but because safety is _always_ a concern and I'm pleased to note that Hogwarts has by far the superior reputation in pupil safety throughout the world. We have lost only one pupil in the last century.

"The other reason I was surprised is that it is so rare to find a pupil taking such an _active _and above all _prudent _interest in their safety. So let me first commend you for your intention of prudence even if I reserve judgement on your choice to go to a less prestigious school.

"Second, I want to assure you that I do understand your strategy for seeking safety through anonymity, it is often a well advised tool for those with a historic reputation such as you and I find ourselves burdened with.

"My teachers inform me that your cousin is nearly as bright as your Mother, her aunt. Which leads me to hope that her talents were passed on to you as well. Harriet has mentioned sharing books to you from time to time. Yet, she has never mentioned you offering any in return, this causes me to wonder if your school or money situation is precluding you from getting access to all the books you need for your studies. If so, I'd be interested in assisting you in anyway I am able. Which might not be only books. While I don't believe I have as many contacts on the continent as your family, perhaps you'd like to let me know if there are strings I could pull to smooth your way.

"In the same vein, it comes to my mind, that you might be interested in some self-defence training during your summer holidays, my friend Lambert Stuttgart is a renown sword-master. The charms teacher here at Hogwarts is was a world-class duellist. And Alistor Moody has recently retired from active duty as an auror. If you'd like a letter of introduction, just say the word."

"Or perhaps there are other things that you're interested in or that you'd like help with, just let me know. I may be able to help or I may be able to put you into contact with someone who can."

"Regards,

"~Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

...

"Dear God," whispered Harriet, "How smarmy." But mail duty was a responsibility that she'd never shirked, and wasn't about to start now. So she wrote her own letter to Harry Potter and enclosed the headmaster's. Hedwig refused to deliver it, so she wrote an additional letter to her mother and enclosed the first two in it. Hedwig glared her annoyance and carried it away at once.

Almost at once she received a reply,

...

"Cousin Harriet,

"I'm not clear whether this letter was opened by your mother or by you. If by you, good job: I authorised you to be my 'agent' so I want you on the same page, or just take care of business and informing me of anything that you won't be able to handle in my place. (nothing comes to mind, I have total faith in your abilities or I wouldn't have appointed you.)

"Anyway, I have some ideas what to ask for, but I'd like to hear your suggestions as well before I pen my reply. And feel free to ask for the moon, even if they don't give us what we ask for, I'd not be surprised if asking for at least one insane thing might increase our chances of receiving everything else that we want. "

"~HJPM"

...

Harriet reread the letter twice, and began making out a list:

"Access to the restricted section, perhaps not to borrow or study, but enough for me to understand what branches of magical knowledge even exist. Everything possible on wizarding customs through the ages, and how laws have changed to control them or they were changed to accommodate customs. Everything possible on runes and wards. Everything possible on musical and emotional components to spells. Everything possible on medicine and surgery, psychology too.

"If at all possible some form of P.E. I'm going crazy here with no exercise except climbing stairs. A proper mundane school would have some sort of sports for everyone. The only school sport I've noticed are quidditch and broom riding, and broom riding is barely strenuous enough to count for anything. I find myself crazed and craving one of the horse trainers to come and order me to come warm up a horse, or walk it cool again. Horse riding is still the best exercise I know of, but perhaps at a school like this with so many 'proper' young lords and ladies I'd have to ride side saddle. I sigh in annoyance.

"Actually any animal husbandry would be nice.

"So would, I'm not even sure what they call it, house keeping or janitorial magic or something. I should figure out what is already available for free without using up some favour points on it or something.

"~HM

She prepended a letter stating that it was her thoughts so far and sent it off. Then she made a few discrete inquiries before steeling off one lazy afternoon to go and find the janitor's office.

...

"Excuse me," she said, "Are you Mr. Argus Filch?"

"Yeah," he said, "what's it to you?"

"And you are the caretaker here?"

"I am."

"Can you teach me j— cleaning magic?"

"That depends," he said, "What's in it for me?"

Suddenly everything about the conversation so far snapped into focus, and she backed up a step and noticed her arms cross protectively over her stomach. But that was silly, he hadn't made any move.

"Are … are you too busy to talk right now, I could come back later…"

He blinked, "Of course I'm busy," he said, "stand still and let me tell you why."

"Huh? Oh, ok."

"Only a few charms are needed to clean up most magically inert substances, but there are a few magically attuned substances that can only be cleaned up manually. And there are others that can only be rendered inert and safe or even possible to remove by some very strong potions. Most of those neutralising potions can react as violently to almost all charms, as the ingredients that they clean up react to the cleaning charms."

"Oh," said Harriet.

"That is why no magic is permitted in the hallways. While I generally mop the upper hallways with soap and water, and only have to use the harsh potions on the floors in the dungeons, especially outside the potions classroom. Everyone would _much _rather deal with dirty mop water than cleaning spells backfiring because some young scamp tracks scroot manure across the hall and up the stairs. Or vulkpod sap in from the grounds."

"Oh," said Harriet.

"But," he said, "sometimes I find I need the harsh potions on the upper floors too. The teachers are responsible for cleaning their own class rooms to their tastes and according to what complications are likely to arise, but I take care of the halls, and I had enough cleaning up from enough walls of flame walking down the halls. Magic is not permitted in the hallways. For good reason, and that includes for me. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"What?" he said.

"Yes, I understand," she said.

"Good," he said, "now, are you wanting a book on household cleaning charms, or on industrial standard cleaning potions?"

"Umm," she said hesitantly, "Both?"

He blinked, then grinned, "Alright, just a second, and he turned to a book case covered in dust and pulled out a slim volume, "Davis Chemical, quarterly catalogue and magazine, the winter edition always has a complete listing of current safety warnings and best use practices."

"Alright, umm a magazine?"

He blinked at her, "keep it," he said, "I already know how to use their products, and anyway they'll be sending me the new edition in a couple months."

"Alright," said Harriet, "Thank you, Mr. Filch."

"Now then, I've heard that THE book for cleaning charms is 'Godliness, Purity, and Spring Cleaning: Three Most Practical Impossibilities,' by Mr. Ennui March. It's in the library."

Harriet pulled out a pen and then realised that she hadn't brought any paper with her.

He saw her difficulty at once, "Here," he said and pulled out his own pen and wrote it in the back cover of the magazine.

"Thanks," she said.

"No problem," he said, "Now scram,"

"Yes, Mr. Filch." She ran all the way to the common room.

As she stood in front of the door and tried to catch her breath enough to be able to enunciate the password she realised, perhaps he _had _warmed to her by the end of the conversation. She went to her normal seat in the common room and resolved to study the magazine until someone appeared who'd let her tag along to the library.

Professor Snape's warning had come none too soon. The halls were a dangerous place for little slytherins.

...

"Matirni, What are you _reading_?" said Daphne.

"One of Mr. Filch's magazines," said Matirni absently.

Tracy giggled.

Tracy didn't stop giggling.

Harriet looked up, "Is something _unusually_ funny?"

"Why are you reading, 'one of Mr. Filch's magazines?' this afternoon?"

"Because I thought it sounded better than Ennui," said Matirni.

"I'm sure it is," said Daphne, "what do you think?"

Tracy sobered, mostly, and shrugged, "Ennui at least talks about charms and philosophy, and ethics, Dad only talks about mop sizes and buckets and safe work practices."

"I think there is an inferential gap one of us is not bridging," said Daphne.

Harriet flipped back to the "letter from the president" inside the front cover and accompanying photo inside the front cover, "Oh, This is your grandfather?"

"He is," confirmed Tracy.

"Alright," said Daphne, "Who is Ennui?"

"Ennui March," said Tracy, "is an annoying man who keeps trying to court my Aunt."

Harriet burst into giggles.

"He also wrote a book that is one part spring cleaning schedule with step by step instructions for most of the charms one might need, one part devotional, and one part a political treatise comparing the effectiveness of vice laws to blue laws at suppressing non-violent crime," continued Tracy.

Daphne shrugged and wandered on. Tracy looked between the two of them, then sat down next to Harriet's right just long enough to peek inside the back cover, before getting up and wandering after her friend.

Harriet flipped to the back cover to find out what Tracy had wanted to see. A comic about the trouble one runs into delivering dangerous chemicals by sleigh, and a cheerful admonition to buy your supplies before the snow sets in.

A grand idea Harriet thought, except that the snow was already flurrying and Mr. Filch said he hadn't received his seasonal catalogue yet.

...

The next day at breakfast Tracy sat next to her, "So how did you find Mr. March?"

"Interesting," said Harriet, "I'm not sure how … practical his charms are, but most of it was interesting."

"Hmm," said Tracy, "Whatever possessed you to read it, and what have you been reading all your life for you to be able to find that interesting?"

Harriet shrugged, "Mr. Filch thought it would be the best for me to read."

"I'm not sure if you realise, but your precious Mr. Filch is a squib," said Daphne.

"So?" said Harriet, "My brothers are also, squib just means you can't use a wand. They can do most of the other kinds of magic. And they can see outside themselves because they aren't blinded by the light of their own magical core."

"Huh?" said Tracy.

"That's an interesting theory," said Daphne, "And plausible even, but what I'm getting at is that Filch has never learned a charm and so doesn't know what constitutes a good text book on charms regardless of his knowledge on other things."

"Umm," said Tracy, "What have you been reading all your life that March is interesting by comparison?"

"What have you been reading all your life that he isn't?" said Harriet then blinked, "your family runs Davis Chemical?"

"And Davis Pharmaceutical, and Davis Imports and Transmittal, and several of the other little spin offs."

"Ah," said Harriet, "so anything remotely serious or business related is probably boring as hell."

"Well yeah," said Tracy dropping her voice to a whisper, "And I have to look forward running most of it, or appointing people to run most of it, more likely."

Harriet wouldn't have been able to hear her over the crowd, had not they been facing each other, and Tracy had enunciated carefully enough that Harriet could read her lips.

"I, on the other hand," said Harriet, "have read and performed most of Shakespeare, and most every version of Punch and Judy, and a great deal of other things, a little serious reading material, especially _logical_ reading material with a _practical _purpose behind it is a nice change."

"Makes sense," said Daphne, "But why are you worrying about household magic instead of more important things."

"I hardly see how spending two or three evenings will harm my progress in the rest of my studies," said Harriet.

Daphne shrugged, "What _are _you planning to do when you leave Hogwarts?" she said.

Harriet shrugged, she could go back to the family circus, she could already see herself selling warded jewellery, amulets they were called if memory served. Diaries that were warded with repulsion charms or … "there will likely always a place for me at home," she said, "But, actually I was wondering about becoming a healer or… or a lawyer."

"Well either of those will definitely provide you with plenty of opportunity to read very serious subject matter," said Daphne.

Harriet couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic, "What about you?"

"She's going to be a coroner," said Tracy, smirking at Daphne.

Daphne stuck her tongue out at Tracy.

Tracy turned to Harriet, "she'll be Greengrass of Greengrass, as soon as she's of age and her Grandfather kicks it."

"Must you be so irreverent?" said Daphne.

"As a daughter of both Capitol and Labour, yes I must, your grandfather is merely aristocracy."

Daphne shook her head then turned to Harriet, "You see what must be put up with when one does not pick one's client families with enough care."

Harriet shrugged, "Do—"

"Don't say that like you don't love me," pouted Tracy.

"Quiet, Matirni was going to say something," said Daphne.

Matirni shrugged, "I was just thinking aloud, never mind."

Daphne raised an eyebrow.

"Actually," said Harriet, "I do have a question, and it's for both of you, suppose your most powerful grandfather, or uncle or whichever relative, offered you books or training to learn anything you wanted, what would you ask for?"

"Horseback riding," said Tracy wistfully, as if she didn't know the first thing about the brutes.

"Sailing," said Daphne, "Or are you asking … umm what every right minded greedy child should ask for first in order to get a yes on the second try when she tones her request to something more reasonable?"

"That," said Matirni, "Exactly that."

"Alchemy," said Tracy.

"I was going to suggest, blood thralls," said Daphne, "But Alchemy is a good choice. I'm surprised you didn't say that thing that love potions are supposedly a degenerate cousin of."

Tracy shrugged, "So I've grown up and given up faith in fairy land."

"Elves are real," said Daphne, "but that doesn't …"

They both stopped and turned to Harriet, "you want to ask for a house elf, if you don't have one already."

"What's a house elf?"

Daphne blinked.

"I'm not sure that will work," said Tracy, "if it was supposed to be a book or training regimen, what can she ask for that would translate into a need for a house elf."

"Never mind," said Daphne, "if she gets a house elf too young it will be instructed so thoroughly in what it is and isn't allowed to do on her command that there's no point."

"Right," said Tracy, "and by the time she could make best use of it, she ought to be able to buy and bond her own."

"She might be able to already," said Daphne, "did you say you're the head of a new line?"

Harriet shrugged, "Is that the new nice way of saying muggleborn?"

"It's the old and accepted way of saying it," said Daphne.

"According to wizarding law and custom, yes, both my parents are squibs living outside of Britain's wizarding world," said Harriet, "according to my family magic. I've inherited two lines from three parents."

"Illegitimacy causing things to act weird?" said Tracy.

"No, my aunt died before she could produce a female heir, so I can trace access to Mum's family magic twice."

"What does that mean in practice?" said Daphne

Harriet shrugged, "Given that my mum's and da's and aunt's specialities were all potions, I expect it just explains why half the adults in my extended family all thought I was the most talented potions pupil they ever had."

"But they were all squibs?" said Daphne

"Most of them," said Harriet.

"So what they call talented …" said Tracy.

Harriet looked at Tracy and thought about the catalogue she'd just read, and how much wealth and experience it might represent. She might be talented, or she might have just had access to books and training early, and Tracy might be the best contact for getting access to more recipes than anyone else outside of Professor Snape, and he'd be hard to ask sometimes. It wouldn't do to alienate Tracy. So she shrugged, "so I might just be average around here, and anyway, there are geniuses and there are early bloomers, and there's no reason yet to expect that I'm a genius, even if I _did _take to potions a bit early."

Tracy nodded.

Daphne looked thoughtful.

...

She wrote up her report and sent it to her mother, and after two days received two letters in reply:

The one purported to be from Harry Potter, but seemed to be in her father's hand. And another from her mother.

...

"Dear Sir,

"Thanks for your concern for my well-being and for my study supplies, at the moment I have plenty to keep me busy, my defence teacher suggests that the only thing sword work is good for is exercise to build core strength, which is better built by horse riding anyway.

"I am interested in the suggestion of duelling, if you are speaking of wand duelling. I wasn't clear what you were suggesting Alistor Moody would be willing to teach. I would like to have at least two weeks, but preferably three weeks at home before starting any sort of summer classes. I'm not sure when my term finishes, or whether it coincides with that of your school.

"It occurs to me that given how much there is that I don't know, it might be advantageous to study something introductory on what forms of magic are even possible and what forms are most necessary to be aware of in order to maintain the level of alertness that is necessary for proper situational awareness and self defence, and also those forms of magic that are most appropriate for defending against those threats."

"The other possibility that comes to mind comes from a rumour that I've heard: that the Hogwarts library has one of the best collections in western Europe and the only near its size owned by a publicly held institution. But that most of it is not available to pupils until they are of age, which for the average British pupil means the age of seventeen. I want to make it clear that our family treats all offspring as ready for adult responsibilities from the age of twelve, and we have _quite _the ceremony at that time.

"I _already_ have complete confidence in the judgement of my cousin Harriet, and I trust her implicitly, otherwise I would not have chosen her to be my agent in Great Britain. I want to assure you that as her Lord and Sponsor I am ready to vouch for her and her actions, and you have nothing to fear from my house and person, and only my respect to gain, were you to permit her normal and adult level access to the library there.

"On that note, if there are materials either cultural or legal that she should study in order to better fulfil her role as my agent, I would appreciate it if you would bring them to her attention.

"Thank you again for your time and consideration,

"~Harry J. Potter

...

And from her mother:

...

"Dear Harriet,

"It's good to hear from you again. Harry says to pass on his apologies for not mentioning to you how to contact him earlier, you did well and should continue to use this method for now.

"We're proud of the progress you're making. Sorry to hear about the lack of good physical training. Perhaps there is something else to ride even if horses aren't regularly made available.

"How is your godfather? How are your classes coming? Have you made any friends yet?"

"Love you,

"Mum and Dad.

And two signatures.

...

Harriet quickly penned a reply.

"Dear Mum and Da,

"Professor Snape is a strict teacher but we like him. I'm learning lots from all my books, I can't say as much for the lectures in a few of the classes. I've seen unicorns around but not from up close, they tend to stick close to the forest, I haven't heard of anyone riding them, but I haven't asked yet. I've made several acquaintances I'm not sure if I'd call any of them friends yet. I have also met several of Harry's relatives, and they've taken me under their wing for his sake. Do you know if Aunt Lily had any other friends here that I should contact on her behalf, or even favours she might have owed, or anything like that?"

"Love you too,

"~Harriet Matirni.

...

As she looked up from sending Hedwig off, Pansy cleared her throat, "good news then?"

Harriet shrugged, "I had to make a judgement call and Mum says it was the right one. Anyway do you know the appropriate way to ask for an appointment with the Headmaster?"

"You _want _an appointment with the headmaster?" said Pansy, "He's rude like a muggle they say, and impatient like a hero, and stupid like … like a gryffindor."

"I believe he _was _a gryffindor," said a voice from several seats away.

"Mail owl duties again," muttered Harriet.

"Why not just make your hawk take the message?" said Pansy.

"Because for some reason when I try to shirk like that the owls won't cooperate."

"Oh," said Pansy, "That must be annoying."

"Quite," Harriet nodded and went back to her breakfast.

...

In the end she asked Professor Snape if he could get her an audience with the Headmaster, he wanted to know why, and after glancing over the never sealed letter, he took her in hand and led her upstairs and around to an vacant looking hall with two stone gargoyles.

Harriet didn't notice herself hanging back until her head of house pulled her forward. "What's the problem?" he said.

"I'm used to Gargoyles meaning churches, and churches meaning uptight mundanes, and …"

"And squibs have much more to fear from 'witch hunts' than witches do," said Snape, "I understand completely, but many gargoyles are statues of real magical creatures. And generally given abilities that are reflected by the type of creature chosen. Those used to protect churches are generally the scaled aquatic cats, able to protect from water and confer their protections on the roof and walls of the buildings. These are chimera able to intimidate, guard, and change shape.

She looked at them with interest, she'd looked up chimeras shortly after she'd arrived, because her wand had made her curious, but none of the line art in the texts she'd found had shown anywhere near as much detail as these statues had.

He led her closer then leaned forward and whispered to them, they moved in a stretching, slithering, flowing, sort of way. That almost certainly had more to do with being made of rock rather than how real chimeras should move.

Snape led her between them and into a spiral staircase, that seemed to be some sort of demented escalator.

"Enter," said a muffled voice just before they reached the landing.

The door swung open before they could cross the landing, and they stood inside the most cluttered and distracting office that Harriet had ever seen.

It was very obvious to her that this office never moved, because if it had all the untidy things would have shifted around and ended up on the floor.

"My dears," said the headmaster, "What can I do for you this fine October afternoon?"

"Harriet Matirni received a reply to the letter you sent to Harry Potter, she wished to deliver it. I am merely here to open the way, and perhaps to serve as chaperone, if she wishes it."

They both glanced at her, she shrugged then frowned, "I believe it would be appropriate for the first meeting, at the very least. If you don't mind."

"I do mind," smirked Snape, "but it falls under the duties of a Godfather, and of in Loco Parentus, et cetera, so I shall remain."

"Thank you, Professor." She said and turned to the Headmaster, and held out the letter.

"This isn't sealed," he said.

"I don't believe it ever was," said Harriet, "which I presume means that my parents have seen it, too. Mum's letter in which it was contained, sort of implied that she had read it, or had been informed what it contained."

The Headmaster nodded absently but he was busy reading. At length he looked up, when do you turn twelve?"

"The thirtieth of October,"

The headmaster twinkled, "Were you expecting a ceremony of some kind?"

"I sort of expected it to be held over Winter Holidays," she replied, "You don't need to worry about it."

"Alright," he said easily, "Are you aware of why he didn't send this to me directly?"

"Not precisely," said Harriet, "I think it was meant to underline the fact that he's fixed it so that his mail gets delivered to me, and he expects me to read and reply to most of it."

The headmaster looked startled, "He did what?"

Harriet shrugged, "he did it ages ago, anyway, there hasn't been as much of it as I expected, so I'm guessing he has someone else sorting most of his fan mail already."

"Actually," said the Headmaster, "I did that before I had him placed with your family."

Harriet blinked, "You knew?" she said, "Huh, alright never mind, so how _is_ his fan mail being handled?"

"In a stasis room near the owlry," he said, "A team of solicitors, well I'm fairly sure it's mostly interns, but the point is, they come in once a month, test and eat most of the sweets, test and repackage the toys for orphanages across the country, answer most of the letters with polite refusals, deposit money and everything irreplaceable in the Potter vaults, and sell everything easily replaceable at market value so that can be deposited too. And finally offers of a similar nature are suggested to be donated directly rather than putting the letter answering team through the trouble of testing them and sending them off to be donated or auctioned off."

Harriet closed her mouth, "you keep saying 'testing' them, what are the things tested for?"

"Charms, compulsion charms especially, dangerous ingredients, love potions, there have been any number of odd and potentially deadly things turn up," said Dumbledore, "I am both relieved that someone besides me had the same thought, but somewhat disturbed that they were able to layer it on top of mine without breaking both enchantments, still more so that they chose you for the task."

Harriet shrugged, "Asking me to deliver mail was somewhat of a tradition before I was picked to collect and deliver his mail, the only thing different is that I was ordered to read his before deciding whether to pass it along or throw it away."

He nodded, "I didn't mean you weren't capable of delivering mail or answering fan mail, I meant, I can easily visualise what would have happened if they'd broken my enchantment when they put up theirs, ether Harry or you could have easily received any of the dangerous packages before anyone detected the failure," he waved the letter Harry seemed to have dictated to Harriet's Da, "I mean he trusts you with his reputation, which is a very fine complement, but that is not the same as conscripting you for a bodyguard, or in this case perhaps 'bomb handler' could have been a better analogy, luckily the enchantments seem not to have interacted and only the letters that I've allowed through my enchantment have ended up with you."

Harriet nodded, "so somehow, one or the other of us has been very lucky, or whoever set up the second ward was alert to the existence of the first? "

The headmaster raised an eyebrow, "you believe that someone was alert to my enchantment?"

Harriet shrugged, "squibs regularly are much more alert to the magic around them than I am. If I ever mention the fact they seem to think it hilariously obvious that I'd be blind to magic, given how blindingly obvious my presence is to them. 'It is not the fault of a fire that it is blinded by it's own light,' were my mother's exact words I believe."

The headmaster stroked his beard, "I wonder what one would make of a dementor,"

Snape shuddered, "I'm not certain the experiment could be conducted ethically."

The headmaster looked up, "No I suppose not, but if they could offer insight adding one to each auror trio when dementors are expected to be among the enemy, or the main enemy of a battle, but never mind that." He picked up the letter again.

"You ride horses?"

"Yes, I'm not as good as Parvati. I dance down hanging ropes, not on horseback. But _riding _horses, I tend to do fairly well and regularly until I came here."

The headmaster nodded, "we haven't taught horse-riding in centuries,"

"Not since broom riding became more popular," said Snape, "it's considered a more dignified and more practical form of transportation, though I imagine it is not nearly as thorough a form of exercise."

The headmaster nodded.

"Are there horses or horse like creatures we could ride to keep in practice?" said Harriet.

"There are unicorns and thestrals," said the headmaster staring off into space, "at certain times of year there are griffins which are not for riding, and hippogriffs which could be if you can establish a rapport,"

"Hmm," said Harriet.

"Out of all of those I'd trust myself to a thestral," said Snape.

"Quite," said the headmaster, "though I wouldn't think she'd be able to see them, nor would I recommend going in the Forbidden Forest to look for them, perhaps something could be arranged with Haggrid."

Snape nodded, "That would seem to be the most sustainable option, and if the question is regular exercise, I believe that is the most plausible option."

"I wonder how many pupils would be interested in a class,"

"Or a club," said Snape, "optional classes traditionally have a different set of requirements than clubs,"

"Quite," said the headmaster looked relieved, "I believe that is the best option, would you like to suggest it to Haggrid or shall I?"

"I believe Harriet should collect names and petition Haggrid, then he can decide if he's interested, and petition you for approval. I'd say let's do everything through proper channels, some of the other requests in that letter are much less simple to arrange, if they are possible at all."

The headmaster looked down at the letter again. "I'll have to look into the rest of this a bit deeper."

"Alright," said Harriet, "thank you."

The headmaster nodded and glanced at the door, it opened.

"Would you mind seeing yourself out? There are some things that I'd like to discuss with your head of house."

"Alright," she said.

...

She went back to her dorm, on her bed she found a book with a short letter in purple and green ink, "Harriet, this book will provide you with an insightful overview of the history of Hogwarts and a synopsis of the very many types of magic that have been taught here over the centuries. A new edition comes out every ten years and this one is somewhat old, so you may wish to purchase your own copy, or simply read it and return it to the library when you're finished. ~Albus"

Needless to say, Harriet did not accomplish anything else that afternoon.

**{End Chapter 8}**


	9. Plans progress

**{Disclaimer}**

_If you recognise it from somewhere else, then I almost certainly don__'t own it. When Harriet references characters you don't know, take it as an invitation to catch up on your Shakespeare._

_If you wish to help beta this or future works me please contact me. If you find a spelling or grammar error that takes you out of the story, feel free to tell me about it, though if it__'s inside quotes it _might _be intended as characterisation and I might choose not to fix it. I did my best to use UK spelling and phrasing over US, but assume there are lapses, if you have further suggestions regarding that I__'m open to consider them._

_If there are scenes or one liners that you would like to see with these versions of these characters in future years feel free to send me those as well, no promises. Ditto if I missed obvious allusions to Shakespeare in conversations where characters would have indulged._

_There is already at least one companion OMAKE story in progress. _

_Based on feedback I am re-releasing this in smaller sections, Thanks for the feedback. I apologise for the hyphens it seems the most effective way to keep my line breaks where they belong._

…

_This is an story about who Harry might be, in an AU that diverges before Lily and Snape go to Hogwarts. The divergence starts when Petunia is given a book called __'The Thirteen Clocks' by James Thurber. She finds the formula used by it's protagonists, "If X must be done, and cannot be done by method Y, then it must be attempted by a method not-Y," to be infinitely more useful than "If at first you don't succeed, try try again," and of course she lives too early to have heard the early 21 century buzzword version of the adage, "Fail better."_

_Because of this strategy she manages to gain Snape__'s respect and help, though not the friendship for which she had originally been jealous. With access to his research and aid she managed to gain entrance to a different magical community. A community made up of contented squibs rather than jealous ones._

_..._

_Enjoy,_

_H. Bregalad_

**Club**

The next day when she became restless she remembered that no one was going to take care of her exercise issues but herself. So she planned out an announcement and sign up sheets and what she'd need to get the club running and then re-designed her sign-up sheets. The major difficulty was clipboards, the wizarding world didn't seem to have them and she didn't know who to borrow them from if they did. She tried to transfigure something but couldn't get the wood to not split or the metal to stay attached properly. She went to Tonks who went over the design with her several times before attempting it, and several other designs that she seemed to think would be easier to make.

The end result was a clipboard that was only spring-loaded when you pushed a little lever up a ramp and only let go when you slid it back down. Almost like a window lock.

"Thanks," said Harriet, "Can you make eight more?"

"Perhaps," said Tonks, "are you going to tell me what you need them for?"

"Horse riding club," said Harriet, "do you want to ask the Hufflepuffs? Otherwise I was going to ask Sally-Ann."

"You're going to open it to all houses?"

"I was planning on it," said Harriet, "And make it clear that the girls will be trained to ride both ways, or at least will have the option of learning and practising both styles, a quarter of our millionaires and at least a third of the fighters in the last war were women, there is no reason why we shouldn't all have the best level of exercise available."

"I agree," said Tonks, "Where are you going to get enough horses?"

"I hear that there are enough unicorns and thestrals in the forest, but we have to convince Hagrid to get them for us."

"Ah," smirked Tonks, "There's a lovely problem, how much do you know about each of those options."

"I know stories about unicorns, and enough about what ingredients can and can't be used that I begin to think that half the stories are meant as mnemonics to help remember potions things, but got confused by muggles."

Tonks shook her head, "Then let me explain."

...

After an enlightening conversation, Tonks took her out to meet Hagrid and collect his opinion. And with their help she re-arranged her sign up sheets yet another time. Then she went and found Padma in the library. She said she'd ask around, but she wasn't very interested, except perhaps for a reason to see her sister sometimes. There were so few classes that the ravenclaws and gryffindors were scheduled together.

...

They couldn't find Parvati anywhere, and no one would let them into gryffindor tower. So they decided to put off asking the gryffindors until later, but as they were leaving the redheaded twins happened by and stopped to see what they wanted. And they deputised themselves almost instantly.

Directly after supper Harriet went over to her fellow first year slitherins and announced, "I'm trying to get a riding club started, how many people are interested?"

Several hands were raised, mostly girls. Many outside of the group of first years that she was planning on inviting. Well that could work out too.

"How many people can already ride, and won't need teaching?"

Several hands went down, but a few hands farther away went up. Boys, especially some of the older boys who thought themselves above the common masses.

"How many of you would be interested in helping teach?" she said.

A few hands went down. A few more wavered. By now the whole common room had it' attention on her.

"Alright," she said, "Please sign up and indicate your level of proficiency and about how many afternoons a week you'd be interested in meeting, actually, also put down which afternoons you'd be most interested in meeting. And finally please indicate which animals you are interested in learning to ride, there will probably only be unicorns, thestrals, and hippogriffs. Thanks for your attention."

Draco was first in line. Harriet had wondered if he'd be interested. She had figured he'd either have already learned at home, or didn't want to learn at all.

...

Two days later Tonks taught her how to accumulate the selections in the survey portion into numbers and manage them into a grid that would let them see almost instantly that it made the most sense to have Thestrals on Friday, Hippogriffs on Tuesday, and Unicorns on either Mondays or Thursdays. The other thing Tonks taught her was that no one minded if you just ducked into one of the unused classrooms and borrowed a desk for several hours. You just needed a light source if it was late in the afternoon and a cleaning charm if you didn't want to be choked to death by the dust every time you moved too quickly.

...

"So," said Harriet, "we have a lot less interest from Ravenclaw, and a lot less interest in unicorns from the older classes and a lot less interest in thestrals from the younger classes."

"Did you expect otherwise?" said Tonks.

Harriet shrugged, "I expected that I guess, but I expected interest in Unicorns to drop off less sharply."

Tonks shrugged, "some of the kids think that admitting to still having their virginity means admitting to being such an annoying sort of person that no one would touch you."

"Yeah but aren't …" Harriet blinked, "I thought that was a muggle thing, I expected you to say something about seeing sex happen was enough to change what a unicorn thought of you, just like seeing someone die messes with the thestrals. Because I've seen enough animals humping for me to know all about that."

Tonks shook her head, "That's not how it was explained to me, but you're welcome to go and check what they think of you. Also most people don't talk about seeing sex because since the Victorian era it has become a much more private pastime."

"Oh," said Harriet.

"Anyway," said Tonks, "are you going to go show this schedule to Hagrid and see if he can get this many of each kind of animal, or are you going to publish it and ask people to sign up again to see how many people can make the schedule now that we have it?"

"Both I guess," said Harriet.

Tonks nodded, "I guess I'll be seeing you around."

"Fridays," agreed Harriet.

Tonks nodded and left.

Harriet went to find Hagrid.

**Birthday**

One Wednesday Snape came into the common room as he did sometimes, "Happy birthday, Harry" he said when he saw her and held out a book.

Harriet blinked and realised it _was _her birthday, her made up birthday to get access to the restricted section as soon as possible. And he commemorated with a book, how appropriate.

"Thanks," she said, "When's yours?"

"January Ninth," he sneered, "I don't expect you to get me anything."

"Good," said Harriet, "I prefer giving things to people as soon as I find things they'd like instead of holding onto them for months, which usually results in me loosing them and feeling bad. Or them finding something else and buying it for themselves."

His sneer changed a little, "an interesting philosophy,"

Harriet shrugged.

"Don't let me waste any more of your valuable time," said Snape.

"Yes, sir," she saluted and turned toward the door.

…

"Did Professor Snape really call you 'Harry' this morning?" whispered Draco as Harriet finished her eggs.

"Yes," said Harriet, "It's short for a great many things, I still haven't decided if I like it."

"Right," said Draco, "it could be awkward with your cousin."

"That's what I'm trying to figure," said Harriet, "I wouldn't go by that at home, but my cousin isn't here. But he doesn't go by that at home either. The only problem I can see is if I do start going by it, and later we start working closely together it could make things confusing."

"Ah," said Draco, "But after school you'll be going by your last name right? At least away from home."

"Perhaps," agreed Harriet.

"Is it really your birthday?" said Pansy.

"Yes," said Harriet, "does he give gifts to a lot of pupils, or only his god children, or … only when he is hinting that they need remedial knowledge in something?"

"I can only confirm about his godchildren," said Draco, "and he generally gives me books too."

"What book is it?" said Pansy.

"A sickle on 'Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts'," said Draco.

Harriet shook her head, "Rhyming fairy tales, apparently he thinks I should know the non-muggle versions of them."

"Cool, Who's the author?" said Tracy.

"The fables of Porpentina Scamander and plays of Hobart Prince."

Draco put his hand on his chest, "Merlin," he said.

"That's _rare_," said Daphne, "that's not any odd gift, that's a token of some sort."

Draco nodded, "I'm not surprised he had a copy. He's related to Horbart Prince somehow. But I'd expect him to copy something out of his family grimoire for you before he _gave _you a book like _that_."

"Wait, what?" muttered Pansy, "Related how?"

"I never asked," said Draco.

"Prince, Prince, Prince," said Daphne, "I recognise the name, but I can't remember where the line fits into the house alliance structure."

"I think it's sort of outside the structure by fiat," said Draco, "I believe it's goes back to within two generations of Arthurian times. But Hobart was just a couple hundred years ago or his book wouldn't be readable.

"That time-line doesn't sound right," said Daphne, "I mean, I think the Prince line has only been around about four hundred years or so. And I thought it had some weird deal where it doesn't have to sponsor anyone, but no one can call them blood traitors because of it. Effectively it is one generation less than achieving pure-blood status for eternity. Placing Hobart two hundred years ago sounds likely."

"Yeah," said Harriet, "Sometimes the language reminds me of Fantastic Beasts, so I figure she might have published near the same time as Newt Scamander."

Pansy snickered.

"Anyway," said Harriet, "I'm more interested in the plays anyway."

"Any good ones?" said Draco.

"They seem to all be tragedies, the brothers three is the happiest I've read so far, and it's merely fatalistic. The one that starts out as Midsummer's Night Dream goes dark really fast, until the only two humans to survive unite in grief and rage and vow vengeance on all the fairy nobility except the character who I'm guessing is meant to be Puck is 'merely' cursed to wander and never return to his Master's side. The Oberon equivalent, escapes with a very small fraction of his court to Germany. All of the Queen's entourage is massacred while searching for her. She ends up living out her days with a weaver named … well it translates to Bottom, and she sort of turns off her magic because he can't bear to look at her when she's wearing it. She mostly forgets her magic and her people until he dies and she begins to resume her old stature, though her magic can't change the fact that she's now horribly old compared to how old fairies are supposed to get. And it hints that there are some families of weavers who have inherited some form of fairy magic. She remembers her people but can't find any of them anywhere." Harriet shrugged "But Oberon feels her resume her powers and comes looking for her. But he trips wards or something when he enters his old haunts. So the descendants of both families hunted him down just as he manages to recognise Titania. A lot of people die, and all fairyland collapses without them. And the last remnant of Oberon's court fought amongst themselves until the wizards there get annoyed and kill them all too. The end." Harriet realised that everyone was staring at her.

"Good riddance," whispered all her listeners and a few from farther away that she hadn't realised had gone quiet.

A few followed it with a touching their forehead then their breastbone and whispering, "may we never go that far," or "may we never become that which we cast down."

"What?" she said.

"First of all," coughed Draco, "I'm assuming you're discussing the ballad of Myrddan and Rhydderch? I believe Hobart's retelling was the last in which the elves were portrayed in a remotely identifiable light. Second, Oberon was with Titania about a dalliance probably two earlier, and a dalliance for elves can last more than a generation among humans. Also say elves when you mean it, and fairies when you mean it, there is rather large difference."

"What is the difference?" said Harriet.

"Fairy is a poor muggle pronunciation of the name of magical western Europe when the elves ruled it," said Daphne, "They had even more contempt for humans, magical and otherwise than you-know-who had for muggles. The confusion exists because the last dynasty of The Hunt flew a banner with three pixies on it, the symbolism of which is still debated.""Umm," said Harriet.

"And last of all," said Tracy, "that is _history. _The elves _had _to go. If wizards hadn't taken took them out, some other beings would have. I offer in proof that they were evil: no one minded except the Goblins, and even _they_ didn't mind much once we figured out that they weren't just ugly elves with a different magic and different laws, and started treating them better. The international statute of secrecy is _not_ global, it only applies to the wizarding world, and the major signatories are all wizarding nations that were previously preserves of The Hunt. It exists because the wizarding world is committed to the cause: may we never go that far, may we never become that which we cast down, may we never become The Hunt."

"Umm," said Harriet, "alright."

"There is a third phrase that slips my mind right now, but it's in the histories with the other mottoes," said Tracy, "Do any of you remember it?"

"Do you mean the Latin version? 'Et non revertetur ultra in venatione.' " said Draco, "It's more common on the continent. Mum has it on the back of the door out of her study in our summer house in France."

_And no return ever, the hunting. No, Latin not __— And let the hunt return no more. _That sounded almost like some of the spell plaques that grandpa used to make.

Tracy shrugged, "there was another one, an older one, when the elves were mostly banished not destroyed, that calls on the elves to never seek revenge on those who cast them down, but re-appear and wreak their vengeance on any new dark lords who might try to follow in their footsteps."

"The Hunt has Ended, by Milo Cyril?" suggested Daphne, "I thought it very beautiful poetry until I found an English translation, and then I couldn't help seeing bits of it everywhere. Not everywhere, but you know, but in a lot of Norman era family mottoes."

"Huh," said Draco.

"What?" said Daphne.

"Oh, nothing," said Draco.

"Tell us?" said Pansy.

"I just realised how ironic it … would be if it turned out that you-know-who fell to elf magic," said Draco, "I mean it's commonly known that he manipulated everyone and despised all life but his own. A prime example of the sort of mad cruelty the King of Faire was deposed for."

"It would if this were a story book," said Daphne, "but the Potter line comes down through the Peverell line even if it went squib for several generations and before the name was reclaimed by a Black heiress with the money to buy a house of her own."

Draco looked thoughtful, Harriet glanced at him and raised an eyebrow. He knew more than he was letting on.

He shook his head. She had the distinct feeling that he wasn't refusing to answer he was forbidding her to speak.

She shrugged.

...

At lunch she managed to sit next in the last empty chair next to Daphne and away from Pansy, Draco wasn't so lucky. She looked an apology at him but he didn't seem to notice.

The conversation was beautifully lacking around Daphne, as usual. Unfortunately that meant that they could hear Pansy just fine as she tried to interrogate Draco about his mother's politics during the war, apparently Draco's comments during breakfast or his mention of his mother's plaque had piqued her interest.

Finally Tracy said a little bit loudly, "is anyone doing anything to celebrate Harry Potter Day, or is everyone going to just stick to the traditional Calan Gaeaf observances?"

Harriet managed to catch most of her half-chewed food in her hand. "What in Merlin's name is Harry Potter day," she hissed, and then turned red as she realised that everyone _else_ had gone silent directly after Tracy had spoken.

Someone a quarter of the way down the table cheered her, then had to explain to his conversation partner what Harriet had just said. Which confused Harriet even more.

"Harry Potter day is a celebration of the downfall of you-know-who," explained Daphne soberly, "you'll find it's not the most popular sort of thing among a small but vocal faction of older slytherin pupils."

"Oh," said Harriet, "I imagine Harry Potter doesn't appreciate people celebrating the anniversary of his orphaning."

"Is orphaning a word?" said Pansy.

Harriet noticed that no one chose to dignify Pansy with a reply.

"Traditional Calan Gaeaf it is then," said Tracy.

"Quite," said Daphne, "there are plenty of fallen to remember, without needing to speak ill of anyone's enemies."

"Point of order," said Blaise "am I to understand that Calan Gaeaf is the Gaelic equivalent of All Saints Day?"

"Not by intention, but effectively the aspects of practice are so similar that one would think that they grew up together, one under Druids and one under Catholics," said Millicent, "Calan Gaeaf means first day of winter," and then she lectured for about half an hour on the practices of each, and of Samhain. Which was generally ten days earlier on the solstice, depending on nationality. They were all harvest festivals, and they had a special connection to remembering the departed.

No one tried to stop her, Harriet wondered if everyone wanted to know but hadn't wanted to say so, or if everyone was conspiring to help her eat less. After she finished one of the prefects came over and told the first years what festivities they could expect to be provided by Hogwarts, such as an evening feast with pumpkin lanterns and flapping bat illusions. What traditions pupils would have to provide for themselves. They were especially advised to travel in large groups and avoid 'tricks' offered by Gryffindors who could not be trusted to understand what counted as good taste for Calan Gaeaf.

**{End Chapter 9}**


	10. Halloween

**{Disclaimer}**

_If you recognise it from somewhere else, then I almost certainly don__'t own it. When Harriet references characters you don't know, take it as an invitation to catch up on your Shakespeare._

_If you wish to help beta this or future works me please contact me. If you find a spelling or grammar error that takes you out of the story, feel free to tell me about it, though if it__'s inside quotes it _might _be intended as characterisation and I might choose not to fix it. I did my best to use UK spelling and phrasing over US, but assume there are lapses, if you have further suggestions regarding that I__'m open to consider them._

_If there are scenes or one liners that you would like to see with these versions of these characters in future years feel free to send me those as well, no promises. Ditto if I missed obvious allusions to Shakespeare in conversations where characters would have indulged._

_There is already at least one companion OMAKE story in progress. _

_Based on feedback I am re-releasing this in smaller sections, Thanks for the feedback. I apologise for the hyphens it seems the most effective way to keep my line breaks where they belong._

…

_This is an story about who Harry might be, in an AU that diverges before Lily and Snape go to Hogwarts. The divergence starts when Petunia is given a book called __'The Thirteen Clocks' by James Thurber. She finds the formula used by it's protagonists, "If X must be done, and cannot be done by method Y, then it must be attempted by a method not-Y," to be infinitely more useful than "If at first you don't succeed, try try again," and of course she lives too early to have heard the early 21 century buzzword version of the adage, "Fail better."_

_Because of this strategy she manages to gain Snape__'s respect and help, though not the friendship for which she had originally been jealous. With access to his research and aid she managed to gain entrance to a different magical community. A community made up of contented squibs rather than jealous ones._

_..._

_Enjoy,_

_H. Bregalad_

**Halloween**

On the way to breakfast, and all during breakfast, every single prefect who hadn't warned them the day before warned them again: stay in groups, don't let your guard down around Gryffindors, not even your friends. Although you might know better than anyone whether to trust each of your friends to keep their tricking within the realm of good taste.

"Why are they saying these things about the Gryffindors," said Pansy.

Draco shrugged, "haven't you figured it out, the Gryffindors think we're crafty to the point of being evil, which is to say we actually plan our actions to match our goals, we think they are impulsive to the point of being stupid."

"Yeah, but … Ron," said Pansy.

"Ron is impulsive too," said Draco, "though perhaps not so you'd notice."

Pansy stared at him for several seconds before flouncing off.

"Did I miss something?" said Harriet.

"Ever since you and Zabini started making Ron come to you for chess games," explained Tracy in an undertone, "Pansy has been stalking him."

"Is Ron is as oblivious as I was?" said Harriet.

"Pretty much," said Daphne, "though you have the excuse of knowing Pansy well enough to already be trying to ignore her."

"Yeah, but," said Harriet, "alright, I get it, sorry."

"Don't apologise to me," said Daphne.

"Never mind," said Harriet.

...

Charms went well, Daphne achieved control so quickly Draco suggested that she'd had tutoring at home, she smirked and said something about wanting to see him try to fake not knowing how to cast the hover charm. He looked petulantly at her and cast several times before his feather twitched, then he squeaked and jumped back.

Daphne clapped, He tried again and got it to stagger up into the air, after several vain attempts he dragged it over to Daphne's desk and they started having an improvised war-kite-like duel or whatever kind of feather based wrestling match they were going for. Tracy huffed in annoyance and went back to trying to get her feather to do anything at all.

Harriet looked down and tried to work up any concentration at all and imagine the correct state of mind for this sort of charm.

"Oh, well done!" gushed Pansy, "what am I doing wrong?"

"No idea," said Ron, "I don't even know what I'm doing right." He was apparently oblivious to Pansy's tone. Or it was obvious enough that he'd realised and made up his mind to ignore it. Harriet had seen him completely ignore a deadly attack when he knew his checkmate would pay off a single move earlier.

Someone else was _not_ oblivious. Granger could not leave them to flirt in peace and decided to correct his pronunciation and her wand work.

_This was not going to end well_. Parvati's eyes met Harriet's from across the room as they both looked on. Brown was muttering furiously and Parvati was daring Harriet to intervene first. Harriet shrugged, free pointers were free pointers, and if the condescending tone was aimed at someone else, so much the better, she didn't like Pansy anyway, and Ron… could stand to have some pointers, in just about everything.

It didn't take long, but it was Flitwick who intervened. By awarding points, not to Daphne for being first or best but to Granger for being "helpful."

Not that Harriet had expected Daphne to get points after Draco had started a feather duel or whatever with her.

Something tickled her ear. Harriet slapped it and found a feather in her hand. She looked around to see who was missing a feather. Not Parvati, or Draco, no one was. It was her own feather. Whoever had been taunting her for woolgathering had not planned on getting caught. Fair enough. So much for staying on guard.

...

As soon as they exited class and teacher supervision things went down hill fast, But Draco and Seamus managed to get them all to transfiguration without mishap. Everyone except Ron and Pansy seemed _eager _for there to be no mishap.

...

It didn't last, in fact Granger sat next to Ron blocking Pansy. Ron acted oblivious, but sniped at her the whole class. Granger racked up a few more points. As soon as classes were over Ron and Pansy gave it to her with both barrels. Everyone else was happy to leave them to it.

And if after all the warnings, Pansy got separated from the group and set upon by anyone with aspirations of competent bully-hood, they were welcome to try their luck.

Harriet found herself pulled aside into an unused classroom. "What the?" she said balling her fists and wondering if she knew a spell that might be appropriate to stop a school bully, most everything she'd been reading for defence was dangerous enough that she'd hesitate to use it outside a real battle.

It was only Parvati, Harriet steeled herself for a lecture about not standing up to Granger or not helping diffuse the situation, which wasn't fair she hadn't had those classes yet!Perhaps Parvati _had_ sneaked into one of them. She should ask.

"Are you really related to Harry Potter?" said Parvati, "I mean his mum…"

"Yes," sighed Harriet, "cousin, his mum and mine are sisters. _Were_ sisters."

Parvati nodded, "alright, sorry. But her name came up and I suddenly wondered."

Harriet shrugged.

"Do you ever visit him?" Parvati said, "do you even know where he lives?"

_How much should she tell? Padma could keep secrets, but Parvati __… was less reliable,_ "My parents know how to get in touch with him," said Harriet, "he has paparazzi problems or something."

"Oh," said Parvati, "Yeah, of course he does,"

Harriet shrugged.

"Thanks. Sorry to bother you,"

"Don't worry about it," said Harriet, "how's your sister?"

"We don't talk much," said Parvati, "It's kind of weird, I know she's nearby, which makes it easier to make friends and get things done, but it's weird not trading lessons at the end of each day."

Harriet shrugged again and wondered if she shrugged too much whether it would become meaningless. "Have you considered meeting in the afternoon, we have most of them free."

Parvati shrugged, "it wouldn't work, she already has a habit of reading all afternoon, it would have to be right after supper or something."

"I see," said Harriet.

"Umm, Harriet?" said Parvati.

"What?" said Harriet, here it comes.

"How do you stand Pansy?"

_OK, not what I expected after all. _Harriet suppressed a shrug, "How do you stand Ron?"

"I don't," said Parvati, "I ignore the fact that he exists, until and unless I need something done that he's good at, which I think means, if I ever have to solve a chess puzzle, or need something big to hide behind, or something high reached down for me, though that's becoming less of a problem."

Harriet grinned, "I love getting tall."

"Seriously," said Parvati, "I didn't expect it to happen this fast, and I have no idea how tall we'll get, but whatever."

"You're mum isn't very tall,"

"Yeah, but Da's mum is huge,"

"Oh," said Harriet, "Have I met her?"

"Probably not," said Parvati, "anyway, which of your relatives are you going to pray for?"

"Probably Harry's parents and our grandparents,"

Parvati nodded, "I always thought Christians didn't pay attention to your elders, but then I realise that you just pay attention differently because you aren't expecting them to be coming back for more lessons."

Harriet nodded, she didn't have much to say to half the things Parvati said, and she really didn't have any idea what to think about their religion. The only thing she knew for a fact was that Parvati's mother could quote from about eighteen different religious traditions to get her points across to mundanes. And that she could usually tell which ones would respond better to being quoted at from their own tradition, and which would prefer to hear an old sage from another religion, and who would prefer to hear something from a pop song.

...

"Let's get out of here," said Harriet, "I want lunch and I'm going to walk with you, unless you think being seen together will make us targets."

"Targets of what?"

"Rumour is: Inter-house pranking and bullying get worse today and tomorrow and is more likely to be in poorer taste for all the excuse it might receive for having a possible seasonal significance."

"Ew," said Parvati, "Then we go together, if someone objects, you can claim me for a bodyguard, or I can claim you for a what is it called when you have permission to exist because one of the pure blood families said so?"

"Sponsor house," said Harriet, "Or 'client line,' respectively. And I'm not pureblood, but you're right, I'd sponsor you if I could."

"Thanks," said Parvati, "And I you, if we were in India, and I _am _pure blood there, in spite of foreign blood on Dad's side two generations back."

"Did you ever read those books I lent you?"

"No, but Padma did," said Parvati.

"Did she try to tell you what was in them?"

"She said for me to wear my hair up or at least in a ponytail, which I do anyway, though if it keeps getting colder I might change my mind."

"Don't," said Harriet, "find a hood or turtleneck or something."

"What are we, Muslim? Anyway—"

"Completely different tradition, but same practical application. And similar assumptions made for those who don't comply."

"Umm," said Parvati, "and she said to read the books as soon as possible. Which is a poor joke, I can't even keep up with my readings for class."

Harriet sighed, "I should have figured."

Parvati shrugged, "and something about never letting anyone question my pureblood status, I may or may not need _introducing_ into British society but I'm pureblood regardless."

"That might get you through term, but…"

"But what?"

"But you might consider giving up two weekends to read those books, or read them over winter break or something. You don't want anyone to assume you're wilfully uncivilised."

"Of course not, but there's civilisation and then there's civilisation, mine is a millennium or three older."

Harriet blinked, "alright, fine, for a moment I believed you. You need to work on that. And you need to realise that people will assume things from posture without asking your opinion on yourself or their culture."

Parvati stood up straighter, "fine then,"

Harriet smirked.

Parvati sneered back.

"Better," said Harriet.

Parvati grinned and relaxed a little, "Lavender would kill me for _acting above my station_."

"Ah, but is it above your station?"

"I'm a circus performer," said Parvati, "Lavender counts herself about three classes up from that, but she believes in _class mobility_."

"I'd like to see her leap from a horse to a fence post and take off through a portkey without breaking a sweat or loosing her poise."

"That's right, you didn't do so well with the portkey," said Parvati, "I saw you clutch that rope and wonder why it wasn't wrapped securely around at least one of your legs."

"Don't remind me," said Harriet, "anyway, it doesn't matter, I'm going to get my own broom."

"You _would_… Oh!" said Parvati, "Oh!"

Parvati turned and leaned up against the nearest wall.

"What?" said Harriet.

"Do you think I could dance between two brooms?"

"Oh!" said Harriet, "perhaps, I've never quite figured out whether they respond to my thoughts or to the way I lean, or both. If it's by leaning, then perhaps if you can keep close enough to the centre you could do your tip toe stunts, but … but I'd be frightened that if you misjudge it's going to tip in the direction you're already overbalanced.

"But that's just it, they don't tip in the direction you're over balanced, they accelerate in a way that helps you re-balance, at least at lower speeds. I'll have to try."

"Either try really close to the ground," said Harriet, "Or high enough up and with a spotter who you trust to catch you."

"Can you turn into MacLagan and play catcher?"

Harriet snorted, "I can turn into MacLagan, and I can catch your hand. I have no idea how well I can maintain control of my broom at the same time, which is the point. Perhaps we should both practice some before we go too high."

"The lake," said Parvati.

"What about it."

"We can practice over it," said Parvati, "Padma told me that the trapeze was invented over a swimming pool, we can practice there and find out what is even possible before we have to worry about risking our necks over solid ground."

"Sounds like a plan," said Harriet, "Are there heating charms?"

"I believe so," said Parvati, "That's a good idea. I'll ask Padma."

"Ask her specifically about warding our clothes to warm up if they drop below a certain temperature. Or get wet, or whatever."

"Ah," said Parvati, "I didn't know _that _was possible."

"Wards are awesome, if you can find the one you want."

"Wow,"

"Or 'enchantments,' I haven't quite figured out which means which"

...

As soon as lunch was over the prefects ordered them all back to the dungeons, to 'make costumes' no one seemed either fooled by the pretext or willing to complain. Two second years were in the hospital wing already, one with a bloody nose and one with a scraped knee and sparkly green skin.

Making costumes was a little on the boring side, school robes would be required at dinner, as usual, so it was mostly just drawing on kerchiefs or transfiguring them into masks. Apparently that was very traditional in some places.

Mostly only the upper years transfigured, and mostly the younger years only drew or pretended to be 'too mature to participate' until they finally had an inspiration.

Harriet already knew who she was going as, so when a prefect offered to help her she asked for a spiky haired wig. Black.

Then she put her hair up in a crown instead of a bun, and tried to transfigure green contact lenses.

She was seen trying and failing the transfiguration for several minutes, but she kept on until enough people had interrogated her about the use of contact lenses by muggles in general, and in theatre specifically. She was about to give up and discretely change her appearance to match what she actually wanted, when the transfiguration took and she could relax.

Several minutes more, and she had them a comfortable shape.

"That's just creepy," said Tracy, "I would never do that. Who are you going as?"

Harriet turned to her and put on her wig, "No guesses?"

"I have no idea," said Tracy, "some Japanese version of Dracula?"

"No," said Harriet, "Are you any good with makeup?"

Tracy twitched her eyebrows, "If I was, would I look like this? Ask Daphne if you want to look good, ask Pansy if you want to look hideous. Bulstrode if you want … to look hufflepuff."

That was a matter of opinion, "Curse scars are supposed to look hideous," said Harriet, and went looking for Pansy.

Pansy wanted bright ruby red contacts in return, and watched the process with an avid curiosity bordering on obsession. And asked excruciating details.

Harriet finally said, "Could you at least wait until I'm done?"

It turned out that she couldn't, but somehow in the process Harriet managed to understand and make significantly more progress understanding of the process that happened at the moment when the transfiguration finally took. She suddenly wanted to go review her homework and try all her failed transfiguration exercises again.

But it wasn't the time, she had to explain to Pansy how to insert and remove them. And then make sure that they were the right shape, and then Pansy wanted Harriet to make the centre 'clear enough to see out of.' That time Harriet managed instantly.

Perhaps she was on the right track. But she couldn't go check her findings, she had to sit, while Pansy insisted on making Harriet's scar red instead of brown or white and bigger than she'd always made Harry's. Harriet went with it, in the spirit of the occasion. She drew the line at Pansy's offer of a trickle of fake blood but she let Pansy talk her into, 'red enough you'd expect it to start bleeding at any moment.'

Then she went and stared at herself in the mirror. She didn't look enough like a boy, she didn't think she could change the shape of her face with just makeup but that wasn't the only way. She went and asked Daphne if she could make her upper lip just dark enough that someone would think she had a third year's amount of beginner moustache. Daphne thought it was a stupid idea, until she realised how delicate an operation it was, and that the asking was a complement.

Snape came in and grumbled at the mess. One of the prefects explained the ruse and he put on the air of a visiting general and inspected the troops.

Harriet and Daphne decided that he had a long way to go before he got to them and went back to work.

Another prefect cleared his throat right beside them. Again. Daphne pulled her brush away and they looked up. It wasn't a prefect, it was Professor Snape. "Merlin," whispered Snape turning white, then red, "Who the hell are you?"

Harriet yanked off her wig, "It's just me."

"I know who you are, Harry, I was wondering who you're trying to be."

"Mm—, I was trying for Heir Potter," said Harriet.

"That's insane," he said, "you're insane."

"It was you who gave me the idea when you called me 'Harry' yesterday."

Snape's mouth dropped open, finally he managed, "And what would _he _think?"

"Potter of Potter would say …" she frowned, what would he say? It would depend on the repercussions. He would expect her to gauge the consequences exactly and plan for them and take responsibility for them as if she intended them to start with. "Dressing up as one's elders _is _a tolerated part of the holiday tradition. However, dear cousin, why? You could have dressed as the queen, or that smarmy headmaster of yours, and instead you chose to impersonate your sponsor. Is there something wrong with your ambition, or is this meant as some sort of complement?"

"Yes," said Snape, "I suppose that is about what Potter would say."

"Heir Potter?" whispered Daphne, seconds ahead of the rest of the room, "Lord Harry Potter of Potter is your sponsor?"

"Yes," said Harriet irritably, and turned back to Snape, "D—"

"You knew!" yelled Blaise and tackled Draco from his chair. "You knew and you didn't tell me!"

"I was advised strongly against it," muttered Draco, "I doubt she announced it without consulting Dad."

"I see," said Snape. Then he sneered, "I shall permit this under one condition."

"What's that?"

"You _never _wear Gryffindor colours with that getup."

A muttered chorus of "Ooh" went round the common room.

"I'll accept that in the spirit it was meant," said Harriet as imperiously as she could manage.

Snape stared at her, then looked away. "How about you Miss Greengrass?"

"I didn't know sir," she said, "I … it's obvious now but I didn't see it."

"I wouldn't have expected you to," said Snape, "I doubt any except the professors who knew his parents will even begin to guess without help."

"Oh," said Daphne and relaxed.

"I meant, how is your masque coming along?"

"I finished mine this morning," said Daphne, "I guess my ambition is only slightly higher than Matirni,"

"How so?" said Snape.

"I'm going as Greengrass of Greengrass,"

Snape sneered, "so be it." And he walked on.

Daphne sighed. "You could have told me," she whispered.

"I was _hoping _someone would guess," said Harriet, "I don't have my prosthetic kit or I could match his face exactly instead of just his eyes and sort of match his hair. If more people had guessed it would have been a good indication that I've done alright."

"You can't transfigure them?"

"If I started two weeks ago, maybe, if I didn't also have to learn how to transfigure latex in that time."

"Hmm," said Daphne, "Alright then. Don't forget what our Professor said, very few people know what he looks like."

...

**McGonnagall**

The feast was going well, regardless of what it meant for the average mortal, for MacGonagall it marked the halfway point of the first term. The only major problem she anticipated going forward was quidditch, from the looks of Oliver Wood's behaviour, he wasn't anticipating a better year this year than last. And when Gryffindors weren't winning quidditch games, they were acting out. And she didn't want to see that. And the first game was only a week and a half away. That and the slitherins were late.

And if two slytherins where late to the same meeting they were up to something, therefore something was about to start going wrong. Because competent slytherins would instead make things go … _more _right, at least at first. And _competent _slytherins wouldn't tip their hands by being late.

Ah, there they were, and arriving en mass, second piece of evidence they were up to something.

Severus slipped into his chair at her side.

"Is everything under control?" she said mildly.

He snorted.

That was much too ambiguous to _not _mean something ominous.

"How bad is it?" she said.

He snorted again, "bad enough that I expect the headmaster will feel called upon to make a scene."

"That's not helpful,"

"Is he ever?"

"That's not what I meant."

"Should I be preparing anyone in particular so that there isn't a—" she sprang to her feet for a better look. "Who?" she said.

"Harriet Matirni, She thought it would be in fitting tribute to the spirit of the day to come as the lord of her sponsor's house."

"OK, then who is she dressed as?"

"Her cousin, Harry Potter, she looks nothing like him, he takes after his father except his mother's eyes, her representation as you can see is as if he took after his mother except his father's hair."

"But the Potters sponsored last in the thirties, they don't have to for another generation, or… or _two_."

"I'm not clear on that, some families have a policy that requires more often when their funds are above a certain minimum level. A difference perhaps best explained by the variation between the letter of the law and the spirit of the underlying tradition."

"If you say so," she said, "luckily there's very little angst about it in gryffindor."

"Yes well," said Severus, "do sit down, you're steering more attention to her."

She sat down.

"Which is probably what she was looking for," he said, "she's mostly kept a low profile, but since her birthday yesterday she's been … different."

"Different how?"

"She believes she is of age, something of a family tradition."

"Jewish?"

"Perhaps," said Severus, "Not that I would have guessed, but perhaps in eastern Europe where her father's line comes from these things are more widely done?"

"I see," she said, "I don't like it."

"I am not comfortable with it, luckily the only thing we've been asked to recognise is, an 'adult's level of access to the library'."

"The pupils aren't allowed anything different when they come of age."

"Of course not," said Snape, "I take it that Harry Potter heard some garbled rumours of the restricted section and that it was permitted to journeymen and misunderstood somewhere."

"Ah," said MacGonagall, "Has Albus dictated policy yet?"

"No, but after tonight I expect he'll realise the need,"

"Right," she said.

Albus arrived fashionably late, didn't check to see who was or was not absent, and started the feast.

As he finished his first course he straightened and looked over the pupils, she could tell the was looking around from the sound of his beard as he turned his head back and forth to look over each table.

"There seems to be some disturbance among our pupils," he said.

"Quite," she said.

"I'm under the impression that it focused on, or is in anticipation of, an event in slytherin."

"Harriet Matirni has dressed as Harry Potter."

"Oh, _has _she." He said, "Where is she."

"On the far side, about a third of the way down, the big red scar."

"And a moustache, how droll."

"That is not how I would describe the effect she is having. Snape says, she has a family resemblance, but does not actually resemble him much."

"No," said Albus, "he shared his memory of the child with me, and that is not him. Though the family resemblance is … disturbing when combined with … that image of the scar and … horrible memories."

"Quite," said MacGonagall, "Though I'm given to understand that many believe that the point of the day is to be disturbing. Though I admit it made a lot more sense before the war."

"Yes," said Albus, "They are children, let them have their fun."

"I wonder how many hadn't realised that the two were related and might remark on it now."

"I hadn't realised they were related," said Flitwick from down the table, "And to think that he's chosen to sponsor her line as well. It speaks well of him, I'd almost bet on hufflepuff if there were any point to the wager."

"Ah," said Albus, "Is her sponsorship common knowledge now as well?"

"It seems to be," said MacGonagall, "or it may be soon. If it's not plain rumour."

"It's not," said Albus, "or if it is her family has faked it for no apparent purpose. But there is little need for that, if he is thankful for her family taking him in, it is little wonder that he'd want to do something in return, but sponsorship is a rather large responsibility and it's not clear to me that he has the resources to see it through."

"Albus, I've heard you say dozens of times that you didn't have time for pure-blood politics like this,"

"I don't, but I have to make time. The network of sponsor/client favours colours _everything_, I'd hoped that by keeping Harry out of magical Britain he could grow up unencumbered by these sorts of things and become a leader for _all _Britain."

"Has it occurred to anyone," said Snape, "That by sponsoring his own cousin he has minimised his exposure to additional responsibilities, and those which he formally took on were probably those which he already felt via the family connection."

"Reasonable," said Flitwick, "and perhaps a good enough gamble that he didn't wait until he was of age as would have been more common practice. I don't see what the big deal is, I predict that next year everyone will dress as Harry Potter."

"I agree," said Pomona Sprout, "I have two Merlins, and a Helga, all three Peverells, we even had a proposal for a 'Prince of England' of Der Bussant style, but everyone helped talked _that one _down. I'm almost glad to see that her costume can be managed with a wig and lip dye."

"Is this the 'Prince of England' was the one who played mad Nebuchadnezzar in the woods until he got a hold of his love's ring again?"

"Right," said Pomona.

"I'm glad that got straightened out," said Severus, "And her costume also involved transfiguring green contact lenses, a skill which she taught herself over the course of the afternoon."

"What kind of lenses?" said Aurora.

"Contact lenses are tiny pieces of glass placed directly on the eye," said Severus, "these have enough of a green tint that her eyes look like her cousin's, whose eyes are actually a brighter tint than his mother's."

"Isn't that a bit dangerous?" said Flitwick, "most people try to keep tiny pieces of glass _away _from themselves."

Severus shrugged, "muggles work with what they have, they do a lot of counter-intuitive things, to great effect at times."

"Yes, well,"

They'd talked over the pasta course, but when the main course appeared they became silent again.

"Harriet's done," muttered Albus and stood up, "Harry Potter, come here please."

It took almost a minute for Harriet to extricate herself from her friends and make her way to stand before the head table. Where she seemed to look imperious and demure simultaneous. She nodded to the headmaster and stated in a monotone, "The ears of Harry Potter, Heir of House Potter attend you, sir."

Flitwick squeaked something that seemed to be approval for form. Snape muttered something back about style and forcing the headmaster's seriousness.

Then Harriet dropped her eyes slightly, "would it bother you, sir, if I took notes?"

"Not at all, my child, not at all." Agreed Albus magnanimously.

Harriet looked irritated, but drew her wand and conjured … no, transfigured specks of dust into a austere desk and chair, seasoned oak or pine stained to look like it. She took out parchment and ink and sat down before looking up to stare intently at he headmaster.

"My dear boy," began the headmaster, in a different tone, "I received your letter of introduction with great interest and have taken the time to consider each of your points. I have come to the conclusion that—"

The doors crashed open and Professor Quirrell entered with no attention to the pomp in progress. He staggered to a stop in front of the headmaster with breathless haste. His stutter was gone but his heaving sides made him almost as impossible to understand.

"Troll! in the dungeons, thought, you should know." And his eyes rolled back in his head as he clutched at the table before fainting.

"Impressive acting," muttered Severus, "Stupefy."

"Was that really necessary?" said MacGonagall.

"There are still too many pupils who arrived late for me to be worried about one 'professor' who can't handle a troll, or send a patronus. I'd say, with any luck he led it straight here and we can deal with it immediately. But doubtless there is no troll it's just a prank he cooked up with the headmaster to add excitement and highlight why defence is a necessary skill set."

"Umm," said MacGonagall, and decided not to mention that she wasn't sure she could handle a troll, "And without luck, where would we be?"

"Hunting it through the halls with prefects tagging along trying to help."

"Prefects!" boomed the headmaster over the swelling hubbub, "gather your houses and go straight to your dorms, lock the doors."

"Oh, now that's uncalled for," Muttered Severus under Albus' continued instructions: "Staff pair off and let's find that Troll. Harriet go with your class we'll finish this later."

"What?" said MacGonagall, "you were just wishing for something safe for the prefects to be doing?"

"Yes, but not leading Hufflepuff and Slytherin straight into the dungeons where the 'troll' was last seen. Whoever thought up this game certainly didn't think this through."

"Ah," said MacGonagall, "Or perhaps they did, slitherins have to face their fears and Gryffindors are ordered to flee the battle, it will be interesting to see how many follow orders."

"May I recommend you're with me, Pomona is with Flitwick, Sinistra is with Hagrid."

"Suits me," said MacGonagall, and realised that that they'd all come to the same conclusion, And suddenly glad that the divination professor seemed to be boycotting the party, as usual. "Let's go,"

**{End Chapter 10}**


	11. Troll

**{Disclaimer}**

_If you recognise it from somewhere else, then I almost certainly don__'t own it. When Harriet references characters you don't know, take it as an invitation to catch up on your Shakespeare._

_If you wish to help beta this or future works me please contact me. If you find a spelling or grammar error that takes you out of the story, feel free to tell me about it, though if it__'s inside quotes it _might _be intended as characterisation and I might choose not to fix it. I did my best to use UK spelling and phrasing over US, but assume there are lapses, if you have further suggestions regarding that I__'m open to consider them._

_If there are scenes or one liners that you would like to see with these versions of these characters in future years feel free to send me those as well, no promises. Ditto if I missed obvious allusions to Shakespeare in conversations where characters would have indulged._

_There is already at least one companion OMAKE story in progress. _

_Based on feedback I am re-releasing this in smaller sections, Thanks for the feedback. I apologise for the hyphens it seems the most effective way to keep my line breaks where they belong._

…

_This is an story about who Harry might be, in an AU that diverges before Lily and Snape go to Hogwarts. The divergence starts when Petunia is given a book called __'The Thirteen Clocks' by James Thurber. She finds the formula used by it's protagonists, "If X must be done, and cannot be done by method Y, then it must be attempted by a method not-Y," to be infinitely more useful than "If at first you don't succeed, try try again," and of course she lives too early to have heard the early 21 century buzzword version of the adage, "Fail better."_

_Because of this strategy she manages to gain Snape__'s respect and help, though not the friendship for which she had originally been jealous. With access to his research and aid she managed to gain entrance to a different magical community. A community made up of contented squibs rather than jealous ones._

_..._

_Enjoy,_

_H. Bregalad_

**Rescue**

"Blaise!" it was Ron Weasley.

"What," said Blaise irritably. What a time for Ron to break ranks.

"Hermione Granger," said Weasley, "I haven't seen her all afternoon, I think she's still moping about Pansy but… but we've got to warn her about the troll,"

"Oh I see," said Blaise, his mind instantly turning to the rapidly dwindling crowd of friendlies behind him, the possibility that Weasley was an idiot who didn't know how to save his own skin, the probable outcomes of the developing love triangle between Ron and his two girls, and the absolute injustice of Ron of all people having two girls already. "Let's go!"

And then only then did he remember the possibility that Ron might should be considered suspect of wishing to lead him into trouble of some sort. Ergo, take the lead rather than be led into an ambush. He ducked and ran toward the doors at the back of the great hall, intent on getting through them before anyone noticed that they were not with their respective houses.

When he stopped for air and to peer cautiously around the next corner he realised that Pansy was with them. Damn … or … very good, he'd have to play more carefully with her on the board. But that was for later, "Point Me, Hermione Granger," he cast and was relieved to feel the spell take.

"Upstairs somewhere," he said, "Let's go."

"Nice one," said Pansy.

Blaise ignored her and ran.

Much to Blaise' disgust they found the troll before they found Hermione.

"Is there some way we could immobilise it?" said Ron, "trap it in a classroom?"

"How about I get it's attention and lead it back to the teachers," said Blaise.

"How are you going to do that," said Ron, "Safely I mean."

"The normal way," said Blaise, "by being cute," then he raised his voice in a sing song, "Hey buddy, oho tro-oll."

"In that case it should be _me_," said Pansy.

"No way," said Ron, "What are you even doing here?"

"What do you think I'm doing here," said Pansy, "I'm making sure you don't get hurt."

"Whatever," said Ron.

"rrrrARG!" said the troll.

"Duck!" said Ron and hid behind the nearest a suit of armour.

Pansy and Blaise joined him instantly.

"There isn't room for all of us," muttered Ron, "couldn't either of you have chosen a different blind."

"Is that a technical term?" said Pansy.

"Yes," said Blaise, "a hunting term, but it doesn't matter he can _smell _us."

The Troll was angling across the hall toward their hiding place.

"Are you really going to lead him to the teachers, or shall I? I recommend taking him directly to the central stair cases. If you're lucky you can get on a stairway just as it starts moving and he won't be able to follow you."

"And if I'm not lucky?" said Pansy.

"There won't be a staircase available and you'll have to scream your heart out to get the teachers to you before the troll gets to the landing. And knocks you off. Or you jump off, as Neville demonstrated falls are often less fatal than having limbs bitten off. Though I've heard he can also bounce or something."

"Also when there are no stairways up, there are stairways down," said Pansy logically, "and vice versa.: Which was a statement about the schedule of the motion of the stairs, not a statement about the timing of them.

"Are you willing to bet on that?" said Blaise.

Pansy smirked, and ran, stopping every dozen steps to taunt the troll. The troll picked up speed.

"And if you're really lucky," muttered Blaise, "he won't be able to make the turn and will crash to his death like old Joe Larch."

"Why did you let her go?" said Ron.

"Because if I'd gone she'd have gone too, to make sure the troll stayed gone," said Blaise, "She really likes you you know."

Ron shrugged, "she's not as good as Harriet, but she really enjoys playing, you can tell she enjoys playing."

"Quite," said Blaise, "I think they're far enough away for us to move on now. Point me."

The went on and found the bathroom where Granger had been rumoured to be sequestered. The magic definitely pointed to the bathroom. Blaise knocked, "Madam Granger, your knights have arrived."

"Wha?" sniffed Granger.

"There's a troll loose," said Ron, "We thought you should know."

"Oh," said Granger.

Blaise looked daggers at him then continued, "We're supposed to all go to our dorms, but we realised that you hadn't got the message so we came looking for you."

Pansy screamed, and something else happened that sounded suspiciously like a banister splintering.

Ron stared daggers at Blaise.

Pansy screamed again and it sounded like she was moving rapidly farther away.

Ron turned and ran after her.

Granger appeared not a moment after, "What's going on?" she said in her bossy, take-charge attitude.

Blaise would have been in love, except he'd just explained, "I just said—"

"No, I mean who's screaming?"

"Pansy," said Blaise, "she led the troll off so we could get to you."

"You already ran into the troll?" she said, "this was not simply a case of being the messengers because of how you, well not you, but how the other two treated me earlier."

Something went thud loud enough to shake the castle, the dust of ages sifted down from the tops of portraits and wall sconces. That shouldn't have been the noise Pansy would make hitting the bottom. Surely the stairs didn't extend _that_ far underground. Not that he'd ever gone down to check. Hogwarts was known to be big enough to get lost in. And not 'big enough' by the normal definition, nor 'lost' by the normal definition. And while he didn't really enjoy Pansy's company no one deserved to die like that. And she'd volunteered after he'd already said he would do the needful. He could have refused. She wasn't a gryffindor and wouldn't have thought 'dying to protect her love' counted as a fitting end.

Pansy crowed like a feminist quidditch star. From _much _nearer by than the bottom of the stairs.

"They might be irritated at your manners sometimes," said Blaise, exactly his thoughts on Pansy a moment earlier, "But no on wants you dead."

"Oh," she said.

"Also their manners aren't all that polished so they shouldn't complain," he waved indicatively toward the end of the hall where the crowing was coming from.

"Quite," she smirked.

"May I escort you to your tower?" he said, "or would you prefer to wait for Mr. Weasley to return?"

"I think I can find my own way," she said, "thanks for the rescue, even if it was mostly Pansy."

"It was my idea she used," said Blaise, "though to be truthful she decided to be the one to implement it because she didn't trust me to look out for 'her' Ron."

"Oh," said Hermione, "is _that_ what's wrong with her."

"I'm afraid so," said Blaise, "And as soon as Ron decided that his message had been delivered he went after her."

"Things begin to become clear," she said.

"Quite," said Blaise, pleased beyond measure that she was that quick on the uptake, he hadn't been sure what her mind was capable of outside of book learning.

"So who should I thank, Exactly?" said Hermione.

"Ron for realising that you were missing, and alerting me to the fact. I for quick use of the four points charm to lead us here, and for developing a plan to deal with the troll, Pansy for implementing it. I swear she should be on the quidditch team, her timing is impeccable."

"Oh," she said, "thanks then, Umm, so what's next?"

"Getting to our dorms before the teachers find us and ask what we're doing out and about. We were ordered to our dorms, did I mention that even though it meant the slitherins and hufflepuffs would have to head toward the last reported location of the troll."

"Who gave _that _order?" Hermione said, and turned half around, orienting herself to the hall, and the castle.

"The headmaster."

She blinked, "I'm beginning to understand what the hufflepuffs have been whispering about him going senile."

"It's not the only option, but it is one of the more plausible," agreed Blaise, "is there a reason we're not running?"

"The troll is either dead or at the bottom of the stair chamber?"

"And the teachers are theoretically converging there? Yes, But they will be spreading out to locate all their lost pupils as soon as they decide it's dead for sure."

"Good point," she said, "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Quite," he said and hightailed it for the farthest stairway that usually went all the way to the dungeons, since he was working under the assumption that the central stares would be clogged with teachers and hypocritical safety lectures.

…

Aftermaths: Nott

...

As soon as they reached the common room everyone was counted off and the strays were listed and everyone that was accounted for was sent to their rooms until breakfast or an all clear was sounded.

After a while Pansy turned up with Snape, she'd been in the hospital wing and two of the other two strays were there and had been most of the afternoon. Pansy refused to admit why she was late, or had been to the hospital wing. Snape asked who was left.

"Just Blaise," said Nott.

Pansy clenched her jaw and looked around.

"Go relieve yourself or whatever you need," said Snape, "I expect the elves will bring us the rest of our dinners shortly."

Pansy nodded and left.

"Umm," said Vincent from just inside the door to the boy's hall, "are you still looking for Blaise?"

"Yes," said Nott.

"He's snoring in his bed," said Vincent, "I'm sorry, I didn't think to check there, I was sure he'd been at supper."

"Whatever," said Nott, "As long as he's not hurt or missing."

Vincent nodded.

Nott turned back to Snape, "Sorry sir, he slipped through my accounting, I didn't think to check if any had arrived before me."

"It didn't turn out to be a problem this time," said Snape, "the danger was over before someone might have been mistakenly sent out to look for him. And you'll remember next time."

"Yes, Professor," said Nott.

...

It turned out that defying teachers and other deadly monsters were as good if not better methods of making friends than sharing secrets or playing games together. The next day after classes Ron and Hermione visited. Ron to play chess with Pansy and Blaise, Hermione to tutor whichever of them wasn't playing chess with Ron.

Ron may or may not have been a little distracted from his game by her lectures.

...

And Draco, as usual, set out his books to study two chairs away from Blaise. Harriet as usual, when Pansy or Tracy wasn't dictating otherwise, set out her own study materials two chairs away from Draco.

And both of them, as usual, got about ninety percent done with their revisions before getting bored and starting to ask each other about their respective childhoods. The tradition had started weeks earlier because Draco wanted to know about Harry Potter, but paid close enough attention to Harriet's evasions to realise that her family lived a very different, much more interesting life than he did.

Or so he thought. Harriet had quickly deduced from his questions bits about how his life differed from hers and asked her own questions in return.

**Daphne's room**

Over the course of November, it became common to see Ron and Hermione around, Ron playing chess with all comers, which he seemed pleased was a larger proportion of the slitherins than it was of gryffindors, Hermione lecturing to anyone who would listen. Or as was sometimes the case, listening to an upperclassman who felt the need to correct her (and usually a textbook) on some point.

On days when there was slytherin business, or just upperclassman business, that required the common room, the six of them would adjourn to an empty class room near the stair up to the first floor. Daphne and Tracey were often there before them but no one seemed to mind. Usually reading, usually on a transfigured couch.

Harriet was intrigued by the idea of transfiguring cloth and cushions instead of wood or glass and had to give it a try or two before sitting on whatever she'd managed and going back to her studies. Sometimes they were joined by Hufflepuffs with similar issues, (apparently their common room had odd acoustics that usually meant even one conversation made the whole room sound cosy and lived in, but there were several locations, a large area by the biggest fireplace, another just by the door, and a few other places that no one could quite keep track of where anything you so much as whispered would be clearly carried to the whole room.) So some days it would suddenly become absolutely terrible to study in.

Until one day it came out that Daphne _did_ mind, (it might have had something to do with Ron's comment to Blaise that Daphne and Tracy would be a good couple if they weren't both heiresses and having 'family duties' to uphold) She cleared her throat marched to the door and affixed a transfigured plaque to it.

Everyone stared.

Daphne never stomped her feet and never let anyone except Tracy know she was irritated. And no one was sure if she knew that she let Tracy see her eyes roll, or whether Tracy could tell anyway so Daphne didn't bother to hide things from her.

Tracy followed her to the door with the intent to calm her down, but when she saw the sign she sighed and then read it out loud, "1st year, READING ROOM, (Teachers and Prefects welcome) Talking is absolutely NOT WELCOME. If you don't like it, FIND ANOTHER ROOM."

Daphne turned back to the room at large still glaring, and still holding her wand.

Everyone stayed frozen.

Except Hermione who grabbed her books and Blaise' hand and headed for the door. Everyone could hear them in the next room casting cleaning charms and setting their books out.

Harriet and Draco looked at each other. They knew they'd talk a bit while they were studying, and quite a bit once they were done. They both nodded toward the door, and left.

As they approached the next room Hermione was trying to get a sticking charm to hold a plaque on the door. It read, "1st year study and tutoring room. Prefects and tutors welcome. Flirting and snogging not welcome."

Blaise looked amused.

Other than (hopefully) keeping Pansy polite the only effect Harriet could think of for that prohibition was keeping upperclassmen from trying to impress each other by 'spending time tutoring the first years,'

Which is exactly what Harriet thought Hermione had been doing. Blaise either thought so too, or had some principled objection to _not_ flirting.

Draco went in anyway. Harriet followed him. The Hufflepuffs gradually filtered in.

An hour or two later when Draco was mid rant about the problems of keeping a flock of peafowl AND pythons in the same yard Hermione cleared her throat, stalked over and muttered, "are you sure you two aren't flirting?"

"Quite sure," said Draco, somehow not being at a loss for words in spite of being interrupted mid-sentence.

"Hermione, we're cousins," said Harriet, "well, almost."

"Look," said Draco, "even if … well anyway, I bet you a galleon we don't marry each other."

Hermione considered the value of a galleon, "Wait," she said, "how would you ever collect on that?"

Draco's eyebrow twitched, "alright, if you prefer me to say it that way, if I, Draco Malfoy, ever marry Harriet Matirni, I will pay you a galleon, for seeing the future so clearly and attempting to inform me."

Hermione blinked, "You're serious," she said.

"Quite serious," said Draco.

"Then what _are _you to doing?"

"Cultural research," said Draco at the same time Harriet said, "Economic research."

Hermione looked between them, "slitherins… Are slitherins known for being able to lie to themselves as well as they lie to each other?"

"No," said Draco, "That trait is reserved to cult leaders, such as Gellert Grindelwald, Dumbledore, and You-know-who."

"Also computer salesmen," muttered Harriet.

"What?" said Hermione.

"Oh it's a stupid joke: What's the difference between a computer salesman and a used car salesman?"

"So tell me," said Hermione.

"The used car salesman knows when he's lying," said Harriet. _And in certain circles the joke is told with substitute fake and real fortune tellers._

"Ew," said Hermione, "Oh, ew,"

Draco made a 'run along' gesture and she left, seemingly in a daze. He went back to explaining about the feeding habits of baby pythons.

...

By the end of the month one or two of the other Gryffindors had followed Ron or Hermione and carried word to the others. It didn't take long for the rooms to be known as 'Daphne's room' and 'Hermione's room', which was somewhat ironic, given that both girls were slightly more likely to be found in the library.

Ron tended to set up in Hermione's room. He didn't need to talk much during a game but both Blaise and Pansy liked to talk, and as long as they kept it down no one seemed to mind.

**{End Chapter 11}**

_Yes, 2 short sections this time. The next two will be longer than average._

_After writing this, it was pointed out that in cannon the Four Points charm causes the caster__'s wand to point North. Sorry. I have not changed it, though I may later. _

_Given that the four points charm is possible, it seems to me that searching spells ought to be possible. A spell as powerful as what _I portray might only work for short distances or for high level casters. _A very low power version of the spell would almost certainly exist, but it would be limited to items that are already enchanted with a tracking charm. And another version must also exist that will search by tissue sample._

_I offer as proof of my assessment of what spells should be possible and would almost certainly have been invented: the implied mechanics of the underage wand trace. And Mrs. Weasley__'s circumstance clock._

_Of course all these might be disrupted in unexpected ways by unplotable wards._


	12. Library

**{Disclaimer}**

_If you recognise it from somewhere else, then I almost certainly don__'t own it. When Harriet references characters you don't know, take it as an invitation to catch up on your Shakespeare._

_If you wish to help beta this or future works me please contact me. If you find a spelling or grammar error that takes you out of the story, feel free to tell me about it, though if it__'s inside quotes it _might _be intended as characterisation and I might choose not to fix it. I did my best to use UK spelling and phrasing over US, but assume there are lapses, if you have further suggestions regarding that I__'m open to consider them._

_If there are scenes or one liners that you would like to see with these versions of these characters in future years feel free to send me those as well, no promises. Ditto if I missed obvious allusions to Shakespeare in conversations where characters would have indulged._

_There is already at least one companion OMAKE story in progress. _

_Based on feedback I am re-releasing this in smaller sections, Thanks for the feedback. I apologise for the hyphens it seems the most effective way to keep my line breaks where they belong._

…

_This is an story about who Harry might be, in an AU that diverges before Lily and Snape go to Hogwarts. The divergence starts when Petunia is given a book called __'The Thirteen Clocks' by James Thurber. She finds the formula used by it's protagonists, "If X must be done, and cannot be done by method Y, then it must be attempted by a method not-Y," to be infinitely more useful than "If at first you don't succeed, try try again," and of course she lives too early to have heard the early 21 century buzzword version of the adage, "Fail better."_

_Because of this strategy she manages to gain Snape__'s respect and help, though not the friendship for which she had originally been jealous. With access to his research and aid she managed to gain entrance to a different magical community. A community made up of contented squibs rather than jealous ones._

_..._

_Enjoy,_

_H. Bregalad_

**Library**

True to his word, the headmaster sent Harriet a note, requesting that she come to his office directly after lunch. She wrote most of a note asking Professor Snape if he would mind being there also before she realised that perhaps that would imply she didn't feel confident without an adult family member present. Which was not the message she wanted to send. So she tore it up and started over, this time explaining that she _didn__'t _trust the headmaster, but thought he wouldn't try anything too drastic if she had a witness. And perhaps he could recommend someone, she'd thought of Draco, Tonks, Daphne, and Blaise, and each had strengths and weaknesses, and her major concern with Tonks was that she had classes at the time when the appointment was intended to be.

Professor Snape pulled her aside between classes and waved her note in her face, "What exactly is this supposed to mean?"

Harriet shrugged, "after the troll, and a couple other things, I don't trust him."

"Ah," he said, "but you know he could pull you out of class just as easily as I can."

"Well yeah,"

"And that while you're here he could do anything he wanted to you, given a reason that he valued enough to put forth the effort."

"Yes,"

"And the fact that he has not done so suggests that he has no reason to?"

"No reason to, yet," said Harriet.

"You're too much like you're cousin," said Snape, "if you'd been smart you'd have both gone to the same school and been bodyguard to each other."

Harriet ground her teeth, "that was considered I'm sure, and chosen against, perhaps because my family has a history of bad luck when too many eggs are in the same basket."

Snape's eyes widened and he straightened and stared across the hall. Finally he looked down again and growled, "What do you want?"

"I want you to advise me who has the least to fear from the headmaster, and the most to gain, or to keep, helping me by providing an extra witness both of what the two of us say to each other, and that neither of us try anything regrettable."

"If you want eidetic memory, have you considered checking with the ravenclaws?"

"I'd also like someone who was suspicious enough of him or both of us to pay attention," said Harriet.

"Have you considered Hermione Granger,"

Harriet blinked, then nodded, "she might be best, half the insight of Blaise or Draco, but open-minded enough to see what's there not what Draco's father might have primed him to see."

Snape sneered, actually, it might have been the closest she'd seen to a real smile.

"There is one trait you haven't asked for, that you ought to have considered."

"What's that sir?"

He shook his head, "So far I've met only one person with the trait, though perhaps your cousin also possess it. But we won't speak of it here."

"Who sir?"

"You-know-who, had the trait. But he had many others that weren't as helpful, to him or anyone else."

Harriet realised that whatever Snape was talking about either had nothing to do with her, so she could ignore it, or had everything to do with her but that he was refusing to tell her about it anyway and listening to him riddle around about it would drive her crazy… or turn her ravenclaw, which might be the same thing. Probably whatever he was talking about had more to do with him than with anyone else.

"Is there anyone else that you'd suggest I consider?"

"Are there any other traits that you want me to take into account?"

Harriet shrugged, "Are there any other traits I ought to ask you to take into account?"

He smirked, "Do you know what the meeting is intended to be about?"

Harriet shook her head and sighed, "at least for regular classes I'm told what to study before I arrive."

"Quite," he said, "well then I'm afraid I can't be further use to you."

"Thanks anyway," she said, "actually I mean thanks for the suggestions."

He nodded.

"Actually," she frowned, "I mean thanks in general,"

He blinked and his face hardened, "You don't know me near well enough to mean something like that."

"Wha?"

"You should _only _say things that you don't mean, when you know exactly what you do mean by saying them." He turned and stalked away.

_Well yes, but__… What?_

...

Hermione did consent to come, and the meeting with the Headmaster was not nearly so bewildering as the meeting with her godfather had just been.

The headmaster just presented her with a piece of parchment that stated she was allowed to browse the part of the restricted section that dealt with defence related subjects, and read such books at one of the tables _in_ the restricted section, but was not allowed to carry them outside the restricted section, and she was required to re-shelve them properly when she was done with each.

Hermione was extremely jealous, but true to her word she said nothing.

"You _are _allowed to take notes," said the headmaster, "which you will allow your head of house to review before you send them outside the castle or show them to your friends."

"Yes, sir," said Harriet.

"If you decide that you are not willing to continue this exercise, it is your responsibility to decide for yourself when to stop. That is something that adults do, they take the responsibility to put down books when they realise they aren't ready for them, or may never be ready for them. They quit jobs and they refuse orders (as politely and reasonably as they can manage) when they realise that it would be morally wrong for them to continue."

"Yes sir," said Harriet.

"So I'm suggesting, no, I'm ordering you, to put down and put back any book that you realise contains information you do not want to know. Feel free to take notes on the book and how to find it again in case you someday believe your cousin or someone else needs information it contains. I further order you to come to me, or your head of house, and notify your cousin, if you decide that this task isn't one that you can handle, or one that you no longer wish to be the sort of person who would make the sorts of sacrifices required to continue."

"Yes sir," said Harriet.

"I further recommend that you establish a method to determine whether you're keeping up with your school related studies well enough that you may continue, and more to the point how much of your time you can afford to devote to this task."

"Yes sir," said Harriet.

"I think that's all," said the Headmaster, "are there any questions?"

"No," said Harriet, "well, yes, I understand that this is more about making sure Harry is aware of what books are here than it is about copying all the useful things out of them to send to him. But … what exactly are the restrictions of what I can and can't copy out, or even take notes of or mention?"

"There are many different reasons why books get placed in the restricted section instead of the general section," said the Headmaster, "I've only given you access to the defence section, so most of what you'll be seeing and wishing you weren't will be dark spells, you'll want to give him information about how to recognise them, and how to block them and how to counter them. I don't want you sharing knowledge with him or with anyone else, of how to cast them, in fact that information is often not in the books. Do you understand?"

"I'm not sure," said Harriet.

"Sometimes it's easier to recognise than to define, like bullying, or accusing someone of bullying, or blackmailing them with the threat of accusing them of bullying. Defining a dark art is different than instructing in it, though a candidate practitioner will find both to be helpful and interesting. Knowing what bullying is and calling someone a bully are not generally a means of bullying, or even gossip, but every once in a while they can be. Telling someone how you were bullied might be an accusation in some circumstances, or it might be a lecture in proper method in another."

"I see," said Hermione.

Harriet glanced at her confused.

"It's like this," said Hermione, "if I was a bully and you knew it, and you told me to stop or you'd tell, that wouldn't be blackmail, you're helping the one I've been bullying, if you tell me to do something else for you, or you'll tell, that is blackmail, one benefits a victim with the peace they deserve the other benefits you for no reason except that you were in the right place at the right time to see something. One is intended to convince the bully to be nice, the other is to scare the bully into doing other things that they probably shouldn't or wouldn't do otherwise."

"Right," said Harriet, "But what does it have to do with the books?"

"What I'm trying to say," said the headmaster, "is that it may be hard to define, but you'll figure out very quickly what is and isn't meant to be restricted information."

"What I'm trying to say," said Hermione, "is that the bullying and blackmail example isn't a good one, it's easy to define blackmail."

"But not so easy to define bullying," said the Headmaster, "It's easy to say that assault and name calling cross the line, it's another to say that exploding snap and quidditch jeers are not."

"A lot of the jeers last quidditch game were bullying," said Hermione, "at least … if they'd been aimed at me."

"Agreed," said the Headmaster, "but to the older students, and the better players, take them somewhat as complements, if you can believe it."

Hermione shivered.

"Any other questions?" said the Headmaster.

"Not yet," said Harriet.

"Umm," said Hermione, "This is to help Harry Potter, who isn't going to school here?"

"Pretty much," said the Headmaster.

"I wish I could help," said Hermione.

"I wish you and Padma and Daphne could help," said Harriet.

"And if I permitted that, Parvati and Tracy would want to help, and then all the pupils would expect access to the whole restricted section. Soon there would be nothing particularly restricted about it, and all the parents would be writing me and the ministry, wanting this or that awful book to be banned from being sold or owned or left in a library where any given child or budding dark lord might come across it," said the Headmaster, "Trust me, restricting access to books is better than banning them. Even if it's a bit challenging to decide who to allow among the adults who should know better, and a few children who have … parents concerned with more pressing matters than their children's sanity."

Both girls nodded.

"That being said," continued the headmaster, "I expect there _are_ ways that you can help," said the Headmaster, "but this part is best left to as few people as possible and still get the job finished."

_I wonder_, thought Harriet, _if he has some useful deadline by which this ought to be finished. And if there is, whether he__'d tell me about it, or if he's more concerned in making sure that I don't feel pressured to read too fast and neglect my school work. Or that he doesn't offend Hermione's sensibilities._

_Bringing her might have been the wrong choice if it means that he__'s not giving me all the information that I need in order to help Heir Potter prepare for his future._

_Or perhaps it made him be extra careful about protecting, or at least warning, a twelve year old what to be careful of in a library._

_Perhaps Hermione would turn out to be exactly the right choice of who to bring along to make sure he gave enough advice to keep me safe from __… whatever it was that made some of the books 'restricted.'_

_Or perhaps it would turn out that I was already prepared for that, what between living in a circus, between knowing how to curse like a roustabout and not to do so when company was about. How to make all of mother__'s herbal remedies, and what each of them was for._

"Is that all for now Headmaster?" said Harriet.

"Yes, I suppose." He said, "Come back any time."

Hermione shivered.

"Come on Hermione, Let's get out of here."

"Alright," said Hermione, and they left.

"Hermione," said Harriet as they made their way by implicit agreement, not to the library but back toward the grand staircase, and therefore, down to the first year study room.

"Yeah?" said Hermione.

"I'm not certain that— I mean, I'm almost certain that there is as much that Harry Potter needs to know from the non-restricted section as there is from the restricted section."

"Sure," said Hermione, "but the non-restricted section is probably about the same as what he has at his school. You did say he was going to a magical school somewhere, just not here?"

"That's what I've been told," said Harriet, for some reason suddenly becoming very aware of how little she knew about what Harry Potter was really up to, and her excruciating desire never to lie to Hermione Granger. Lying to Hermione would be like lying to Padma, or lying in a book and publishing it.

That sounded like a useful ward to wear around, making people want to never lie to you. Of course an area effect spell like that would probably affect you also, and one could grow dependant on it, forgetting how to think for one's self to make sure what people were telling you even made sense. But still a useful thought experiment. And if it were possible, it would be a fun little trick to use against your enemies if they ever invited you to a press conference.

"So what you're saying," said Hermione, "is that if ninety percent of the general section of the library is the same, the last ten percent could be enough to matter, and that I could help by reading it all and making note of anything Harry could use to defend himself."

"I was thinking more along the lines of reading all the titles and tables of contents," said Harriet, "and it's not just defending himself from spells, it's also understanding wizarding culture enough that he doesn't make the same stupid mistakes that you and I and other muggleborn and muggle raised children are also likely to be making from not knowing our way around."

"Right," said Hermione, "but the general section is _huge._"

"Right," said Harriet.

"All the more reason for Padma to help," said Hermione.

"You know Padma?"

"Of course, Parvati introduced us the first time she came to learn about making friends with unicorns, Though I couldn't quite tell if Parvati was introducing me to make sure Padma thought that I was Parvati's friend first. Or if Parvati was trying to make sure Padma had at least one friend in the club and would keep on coming."

"I think," said Harriet, "that if Parvati knew all the things that Parvati wants, she'd either go insane, or be in slytherin."

Hermione giggled.

"Which is an odd thing to think," said Harriet, "It feels like I thought something similar about myself recently, but I think it was about ravenclaw."

"If you and I manage to keep up with Padma, assuming Padma wants to help, I suggest we shall consider ourselves honorary ravenclaws."

"If you keep helping me keep the Headmaster on his toes, I suggest that I will probably start thinking of you as an honorary slytherin,"

"Ew," said Hermione.

"See," said Harriet, "you're too honourable by half for most right minded people to be able to keep hold of a desire to lie to you."

"Umm," said Hermione, "I _think _you mean that as a compliment, but it comes out sounding like, 'I'm Harriet, and I'm a compulsive liar, but you've got some sort of unicorn magic or something and it makes me feel pretty and I'm getting addicted to not lying when you're around.'"

Harriet shivered, "Umm Hermione, Please don't say it like that. But umm, I've worked since I was four, not because my family is cruel and abusive and all that, but when you live around the same place where your parents and aunts and uncles work, you sort of get the feeling about all the fun and exciting things you could be helping with and improving your skills at."

"That … makes sense," said Hermione wistfully.

"Other than keeping trash picked up and clients closely monitored enough that they didn't try to sneak where they didn't belong, the two things I actually could help with were cooking…"

"And?" said Hermione stopped and turned to her.

"And acting," said Harriet.

Hermione stared at her for several seconds, then smirked oddly, "Not a compulsive liar, just a professional one?"

"Exactly," said Harriet, "And I'm not certain how many different ways I started trying to use my accidental magic to make my acting better. But I still know the difference between lying and being in character."

"Good," said Hermione with smile that was probably meant as encouraging, but it was a bit condescending too.

"What I was trying to say earlier," said Harriet, "Is not that I only have a sense of truth when around you, but that I'm so used to being around people and accepting what they say as what they _must _say to stay in character, that I forget to try to differentiate what is real for them from what is real for everyone. When I start to repeat what they've told me to you, instead of wanting to say, 'yes,' because so-and-so told me 'yes,' I think again and realise, 'no,' because so and so told me, 'yes,' and that does mean 'yes, but only in the small range of circumstances that so-and-so was talking about,' and Hermione doesn't even know so-and-so let alone know what those circumstances were."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, "I'm not sure whether to be impressed or intrigued that you seem convinced of what you're talking about, or shudder at how convoluted your mind must be to even hold that information, regardless of how poorly it comes out when you try to explain."

Harriet blinked, "When Shakespeare wrote what he did, 'all the world's a stage and we are but actors on it,' I'm not sure if he was making a point about history, or about what one must do to one's brain to be a good actress, and the side effects it has on an actress when she's off the stage and trying to not lie even though others give bad information sometimes."

Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it, then smirked, "lets go read it again and decide," said Hermione.

"Alright," said Harriet, "Your Shakespeare or mine."

Hermione looked around, and narrowed her eyes, "Your copy may be closer."

"Come on," said Harriet and led the way downstairs.

...

All the world's a stage,  
>And all the men and women merely players.<br>They have their exits and their entrances,  
>And one man in his time plays many parts,<br>His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,  
>Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.<br>Then, the whining school-boy with his satchel  
>And shining morning face, creeping like a snail<br>Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,  
>Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad<br>Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then, a soldier,  
>Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,<br>Jealous in honour, sudden, and quick in quarrel,  
>Seeking the bubble reputation<br>Even in the cannon's mouth. And then, the justice,  
>In fair round belly, with a good capon lined,<br>With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,  
>Full of wise saws, and modern instances,<br>And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts  
>Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,<br>With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,  
>His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide<br>For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,  
>Turning again toward childish treble, pipes<br>And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,  
>That ends this strange eventful history,<br>Is second childishness and mere oblivion,  
>Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.<br>(said by Jacques in Act II Scene VII of As you Like it, by William Shakespeare)

...

"It's not what I was thinking of," said Harriet, "Lets try Thomas Heywood,"

Hermione watched her cross back to the book shelf and take down her copy of "The Fifteenth Century, in Plays that Stood the Tests of Time."

...

After several minutes of flipping all Harriet could find was:

"The world's a theatre, the earth a stage  
>Which God and Nature do with actors fill."<p>

"It's from a piece called, 'Apology for Actors,' It _is _by Thomas Heywood,"

But Hermione didn't congratulate her for remembering that part. In fact Hermione didn't even respond.

When Harriet looked up Hermione was laying on her bed flipping through another book, as if she'd just gotten it from the night stand.

Then Harriet saw what book it was.

"Don't touch that," said Harriet.

Hermione looked up startled and a bit offended. And perhaps a bit apologetic.

"Sorry," said Harriet, "it was my only birthday present, I … it's rare, probably irreplaceable, not just as a present but at all. Sorry, you can read it, just … you might be the only person I'd trust touching it, and that includes Padma."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, "Alright, I understand."

"Thanks," said Harriet.

"I'm sorry I didn't ask first," said Hermione.

Harriet nodded.

Hermione seemed to notice that the acknowledgement she'd received was even less an approximation of 'you're forgiven' than what Hermione had said. She didn't respond aloud, but instead flipped back a page and began to read aloud:

...  
>"All creation is but a theatre, and all the earth a stage.<br>Every being acts a part, men thus, women thus, gods and daemons thus and thus.  
>Every horse and dog will show their character, when they are given room to show any mettle but that which is called forth by the firm hand of man.<p>

When you act, you are teacher and prophet and supplicant to your audience, who may feed you for your service. You are witness and worshipper to your god, who created in man the ability to speak, and to sing, and to lie, and to soliloquise, and to satire, (which is pointing to a truth too long forgotten by lying about it differently than society has become accustomed to lying about it.)

When you act, you must tell the truth, deep truths about the fallen state of man, the depraved state of the world, or the love of god and of good, and by those loves and with whose help the world can be improved.

When you act, you must tell the truth, the shallow truths of who your character is, or was, or shall be, were your character to ever exist, or ever to meet the other characters.

When you act, others act with you, in their mouths are words that would be lies if they were not on the stage.

When you act, you listen to your character, and you listen to the characters around you, those lies said, and the deeper truth that they mean.

For if you can hear the deeper truth, then you can bear witness to it. And if you bear witness to it, your audience may also see, and hear, and understand.

And when they understand, they will know the truth, and love the good, and the truth perhaps can set them free.

...

When you act, you must tell the truth, by lying. And thereby you can change the world.

Because man is a perverse creature, and when the prophets of old tried to change the world by telling the truth, they were executed for lying.

...

Go out and love the truth.  
>Go out and lie.<br>Go out and save the world."

...

Hermione finished and looked up.

Harriet stared at her.

"Is that what you were trying to say?"

"That is six times as much as what I was trying to say, and twice as much as everything I've been trying to figure out how to even think about for the last week," said Harriet coming over, "Where did you find it?"

"Appendix Gamma, _On acting,_ by Hobart Prince (or _Words to Young Actors and Old Politicians_.)"

"I haven't gotten that far," said Harriet, "I want to read it again before I actually say I agree with it."

Hermione snorted, "I imagine so. Where did you get this?"

"My birthday," said Harriet, my _fake _birthday.

"No, I mean, who gave it to you?"

"My godfather, Severus Snape. Apparently Hobart was an relative of his or something."

"That explains a lot," said Hermione.

"What do you mean?"

"Two things, is he the sort of godfather who would give an irreplaceable book to a first year?"

"Umm,"

"I didn't think so," said Hermione, "Nor is he the 'perfect teacher' sort that a headmaster as kind and benevolent and heroic as our headmaster's public image, would inflict on students, especially young nervous students like Neville Longbottom, or naive and inexperienced students like… well, all the muggleborn except you and I and the Patils."

There was something off about hearing Hermione say 'our headmaster's public image,' and Harriet didn't think she were responsible for the change. Perhaps something she'd said had allowed Hermione to let her see the change though.

"The Patils aren't muggleborn, just foreign."

"That strengthens my point."

"OK, but what do you think it means?"

"I think it means that there is something more going on, something big, or many somethings (it's hard to tell, if you admit blackmail as a possible motive, a topic that perhaps sprang too easily to our headmaster's lips) something so big that Snape is teaching instead of doing something much more lucrative and less demanding, Dumbledore is likewise either letting him or _making_ him stay here and teach.

Harriet nodded, and sat down, as if it would help her sudden feeling of vertigo, in the hall outside of the headmaster's office she'd felt the sudden reality that her parents could lie to her, would lie to her if they were acting a part, or wanted her to be acting a part. And now here was Hermione, saying, no _proving_ that her godfather was also playing a part. That most of what she knew about him was just a part he was playing, and perhaps playing badly. But he was trying, and Hermione was implying it was costing him _much_ in money and perhaps in … fame.

"How long _has_ he been potions master?" said Harriet.

Hermione frowned, "More recently than ten or twelve years ago, but I don't remember exactly how long."

"It was rhetorical," said Harriet, "How can you 'remember' even that much?"

"Hogwarts a history," said Hermione, "You should read it,"

"Still reading it," said Harriet, "and I don't think the edition the Headmaster gave me is that recent."

"You can read the end of mine when you finish yours," said Hermione.

"Cool, thanks," said Harriet, "What happened ten or twelve years ago that would allow or force either one to…"

"Blackmail the other?" suggested Hermione.

"Yeah,"

"I'm not sure, ten years ago is about when the war ended," said Hermione.

**{End Chapter 12}**


	13. Research

**{Disclaimer}**

_If you recognise it from somewhere else, then I almost certainly don__'t own it. When Harriet references characters you don't know, take it as an invitation to catch up on your Shakespeare._

_If you wish to help beta this or future works me please contact me. If you find a spelling or grammar error that takes you out of the story, feel free to tell me about it, though if it__'s inside quotes it _might _be intended as characterisation and I might choose not to fix it. I did my best to use UK spelling and phrasing over US, but assume there are lapses, if you have further suggestions regarding that I__'m open to consider them._

_If there are scenes or one liners that you would like to see with these versions of these characters in future years feel free to send me those as well, no promises. Ditto if I missed obvious allusions to Shakespeare in conversations where characters would have indulged._

_There is already at least one companion OMAKE story in progress. _

_Based on feedback I am re-releasing this in smaller sections, Thanks for the feedback. I apologise for the hyphens it seems the most effective way to keep my line breaks where they belong._

…

_This is an story about who Harry might be, in an AU that diverges before Lily and Snape go to Hogwarts. The divergence starts when Petunia is given a book called __'The Thirteen Clocks' by James Thurber. She finds the formula used by it's protagonists, "If X must be done, and cannot be done by method Y, then it must be attempted by a method not-Y," to be infinitely more useful than "If at first you don't succeed, try try again," and of course she lives too early to have heard the early 21 century buzzword version of the adage, "Fail better."_

_Because of this strategy she manages to gain Snape__'s respect and help, though not the friendship for which she had originally been jealous. With access to his research and aid she managed to gain entrance to a different magical community. A community made up of contented squibs rather than jealous ones._

_..._

_Enjoy,_

_H. Bregalad_

**Research**

As soon as Harriet realised the amount of time it would take to read all of the restricted section, or even just the area set aside to defence topics, she decided that she needed to pace herself, and she needed to invent or learn better study techniques both for her school studies, and for her skimming in the library.

And even more importantly she didn't have time to run the riding clubs, it _had _turned into three interlocking clubs, She'd already turned the thestral riders over to Tonks, when it turned out that she couldn't see them, or not well, mostly out of the corner of her eye, and not reliably then. But now she turned over the the hippogriffs too Tonks also and tried to determine the oldest, or most enthusiastic, or most knowledgeable (preferably all three) member to turn over the unicorn riders too. She didn't really see a good candidate but Hermione suggested Parvati and Lavender as a team, and that worked, mostly. Parvati could do anything on horseback, even without a saddle. And that translated to a certain kind of respect. And with Lavender backing her up with administration, things seemed to go well. Draco was a bit annoyed that she hadn't turned the club over to him. And Padma was annoyed that she hadn't been asked to be Parvati's behind the scenes person. Harriet sighed and told each of them there was a different favour she'd rather ask them for, and to come meet with her and Hermione after supper, in Hermione's tutoring room.

Of course, then she had to notify Hermione to meet in the tutoring room, instead of in the library.

"So, what's this all about," said Draco, taking in the fact that he was in a room with three muggleborn girls.

"This," said Harriet "is about Harry Potter. He got the Headmaster to grant me, unrestricted access in and out of the defence related restricted stacks. But I have to let his agent check my notes before I send them to Potter, or let any of the rest of you see them."

"Please tell me the agent in question is NOT the defence professor," said Draco.

"It's not," said Harriet, "but good call, he gives me the creeps."

"So are we alowed in on your coat tails or something," said Padma.

"Unfortunately not," said Harriet, "The reason you're here is that Hermione pointed out, as Harry hinted, and Draco also told me but I didn't understand immediately, there's a whole lot of things that a wizard raised by squibs might not know, that a pure blood who wasn't orphaned would already know. Harry wants a report what types of magic are out there, what each is generally considered to be capable of, what on average each is generally used for, and the name of one or two introductory works for each and the names of one or two advanced works or reference works on each. As muggle and squib raised witches, you and Hermione will be better able to understand what Harry doesn't know and will want to be informed of than Draco or Daphne will."

Padma nodded.

"You two will also likely get the same benefit of knowing what all is out there that Harry and I hope to get." Explained Harriet, "so I'm hoping that you'll help Hermione read, I'm not sure here, but you two will probably figure out some system, all the tables of contents and if the book is interesting, make note of its title, and what subjects it looks interesting in. And whether it appears to be introductory or advanced."

Padma glanced at Hermione, then back at Harriet, "You want us to read and catalogue the library."

Harriet closed her eyes and thought about what was on catalogue cards.

"That's exactly what we're doing," said Hermione, "I noticed right away that there was no catalogue, I didn't think that maybe someone needed to teach the magical world how to make one."

"Point of order," said Draco, "What exactly do you mean by catalogue?"

"It's a … well now they're often on computers but originally they were on cards in drawers, you think of a subject that you're interested in, say the history of transfiguration 1930s, you look it up under h for history, and then inside history you find 1930s, and then inside 1930s you check to see if any of the books are about transfiguration, or you can look the other way look under T for transfiguration and see if there are any under history, or just were first published in the 1930s or early 1940s, as you do you copy out the names of all the books that look like what you want, and where in the library they are, some might be under history, some might be under transfiguration, and some might be under I don't know frogs or whatever the transfiguration's are about."

"Why not go to each of those sections and just look?" said Draco.

"Because, first of all, Frogs isn't a place I'd normally look for a book on transfiguration, or the 1930s," said Padma, "Second because a huge number of the books in the library don't have their titles showing on their spines anymore, some not on their covers either. and last and most important, flipping one card over for every book you _don__'t_ want, is a lot faster than taking down a book, flipping to its title page to see its title, flipping to the table of contents to see what its subject actually is, deciding if it's actually what you're looking for, summoning up the will power not to read it right away, and then figuring out how to fit it back on the shelf where all of the books next to it have decided to lay down into it's place."

"But you're going to have to do that anyway," said Draco, "or that's what it sounds like you're planning on doing."

"We are planning that," said Padma, "we're planning on doing it _once_, so that no one has to do it again."

"Oh," said Draco, "like inventing the four points charm except for libraries,"

Draco raised an eyebrow at all the looks of amazement they were all giving him, "the four points doesn't work in libraries unless there is only a single book that matches what you're looking for. Didn't you ever try it, or even think of trying it? Merlin, one would think you don't know you're witches yet."

"Perhaps," said Hermione, "instead of complaining about their life philosophies you should teach the four points charm,"

"Fine," said Draco, drawing his wand and laying it flat on his open palm, "Point me, Hermione Granger, first of her line."

The wand spun and pointed at Hermione.

"Simple no?" he said, "you have to sort of think about what you want it to find and lead you to, and it's not really all that useful if you're running or chasing someone, because you don't want to drop your wand, but," he shrugged, "it will find most things that you can think of clearly enough and name in a way that it will know what to find. Things get complicated when things are above or below you, but that just requires enough power for it to sort of tip up or down in your hand, you don't even need to see it rise, you can usually feel it trying to tip and that can be enough, as long as you explain what you feel to your friends because they might not be able to see the difference unless you cast with a lot of power. There's a third year charm that turns a piece of wood or straw into a sort of compass the same way, but it is also a hover charm, that's what I'd use if I had to show everyone where to go, and didn't want to question what I'd felt my wand trying to do, and was running through the woods in the dark, over rough ground, and didn't want to stop to cast the four points, or risk dropping my wand, or whatever. But I can't do that one yet. But now that I can do a hover charm I might could learn it."

Padma stared at him, and then at Hermione, "did that little speech remind you of anyone."

"Not really," said Hermione.

Harriet concentrated on her wand, "do you cast and then let go really fast, or do you let go first and then cast."

"I've seen it both ways," said Draco, "and I've seen people cast and hold onto their wand and then let the pressure of the wand trying to turn guide them which way to point it until it stops trying to turn. Which works, I suppose, and might be better for up and down sorts of points, such as if you actually thought it would work in a library. But it looks totally fake, and no one would believe you."

"Point me, Blaise Zabini," said Harriet, and let go of her wand, a bit too quickly, it spun in a lazy spiral as it fell to the floor."

"Oh," said Draco, and laid his wand on the table, "It's also possible like this," he put the second knuckle of his middle finger lightly near the centre of his wand, "Point me, Padma Patil." The wand spun slightly and made a scratching sound on the table." Draco picked up his finger, the wand spun a little faster, and then stopped before it had turned all the way to Padma, it was evident that the spell had stopped functioning when Draco's finger had lost contact with the wand.

Hermione nodded picked up her wand and held her hand flat, and cast the same as before. This time the wand spun and pointed in a stable direction. Hermione turned her hand under it and it continued to point in the same direction.

"Downstairs I believe," said Hermione.

"Yeah, that's roughly the direction of slytherin common room," said Draco.

"Is slytherin not … under the castle?" said Padma.

"Sort of," said Draco, "we have skylights under the lake."

"Huh," said Padma and turned to Harriet, "you never told me that."

Harriet shrugged, "It never came up."

Padma shrugged, "And I guess the lake sort of comes inside the castle where the first year docks are." She extended her left hand in an upward somewhat diagonal direction, and her right hand out flat with her wand on it, "Point me, Patil Parvati."

The wand spun, she blinked and grasped it more firmly and tilted it upward until it almost matched her other pointing finger.

"Not quite accurate but close enough," she said, then frowned, "actually," she moved her left hand down and slightly across to point in the same direction as the wand, "Now I'm not sure."

"When you were concentrating on following your wand, your left hand moved with your shoulder as you turned around and looked up," said Draco, "I couldn't say for sure, but I think you ended up pointing in the same direction as where you started out."

"Oh," said Padma and shrugged.

"So you're guessing Gryffindor tower?"

"I'm not sure where that is from here," said Padma, "but I've always known where to find Parvati, even in a noisy crowd."

"Twin magic," said Draco, "It's in books at times but I always wondered if it was real."

"I'm not sure," said Padma, "It might just be an accidental magic or two that get used so much that it sort of ends up as reliable. Sort of like, Harriet's."

Padma stopped and looked at Harriet. Harriet glared at her and shook her head.

"I guess she'll tell you about that when she's ready," Padma shrugged, "Anyway what I'm trying to say is that Parvati seems to think the Weasley twins do a whole different set of magic together than what we do. And therefore it's habitual accidental magic, perhaps with exceptionally compatible magical cores, not some sort of 'twins always get this magic,' group of charms."

"Ah, I see," said Draco, and turned to Harriet, "do you want to tell us what she was thinking of, or a part of it?"

"I can sometimes steer my hawk, Hedwig, or call her to me," said Harriet.

"Ah," said Draco, "that's somewhat common for familiars. And I read a book where this creepy mean lord advisor told the king to kill one of his twin sons because one would be no more than the familiar of the other, and it would confuse and upset the populace, but really he wanted to steal one of the twins and hide it away and train it to be the usurper someday."

Padma said, "lets move on. So we need a catalogue, because 'point me' err the four points charm doesn't work for what we usually need, and it especially doesn't work for what we want to offer Harry Potter. Shall we build the Catalogue first and worry later about finding the books we want to report to Harry, or sort of work on both at once."

"I'm not sure," said Hermione, "I'm thinking both at once, What we're giving Harry is just a list of subjects available and some hints at good books in each category, four times out of five he may decide to read a book he can get his hands on in his own school, not owl order a fifty year old book that happens to be what's available here to us."

"Are you in charge here?" Padma asked.

"Sort of," said Hermione, "well, no not necessarily I just happened to be there when Harriet realised the need and … suggested that we could do the same for the main library that she has to do alone in the restricted section. You're point is excellent about turning the project into a real catalogue instead of just a list of subjects that ought to be in the catalogue. The suggestion was that Daphne could help us too, though, not Draco."

"Ah ha," said Padma.

"So what am I here for?" said Draco.

"Because I have to do more than just catalogue books by their subject," said Harriet, "I'm supposed to scan them for defence spells, and perhaps for dark spells that he needs to be able to recognise and defend against."

"And?" said Draco.

"And you seem to only need to read your books once, and I generally need to three times, and if I only needed to read mine once, I'd have more time to devote to Harry's research."

"Ah," said Draco, "I may not be the only one in the school who can teach you those skills, but perhaps I've—" he glanced at the other two girls who were looking at Harriet askance, "Perhaps I'm the one who can be most easily spared from the library catalogue project."

"It's not _only_ that," said Harriet, "Padma is probably the best of anyone I know at _studying_, and Hermione is good at reading and the best at helping, which sometimes only works after a teacher has taught most of it, she can figure out very quickly what you didn't understand and re-explain that part fairly well. But she doesn't always … _helping _isn't the same as _teaching_, and different pupils don't all always learn best from the same teacher, and I already know I generally learn well from you. And that whatever it is you do, you seem to do it on purpose."

"Ah," said Draco, "yes, there is a difference between running well because someone taught you, and running well because for whatever reason you invented the right way by accident when you first started trying to run."

He looked at the other two, "And you're probably right. Hermione, I've noticed that you don't always understanding why most don't learn as easily as you do, which probably does imply that you instinctively go about studying in an optimised or nearly optimised manner. Padma, I don't know you well enough to guess, but I see you hold your tongue, after people finish talking, and I imagine that you're taking the time to understand what they've said, before you try to respond. I assume you do the same for books."

Padma nodded, "a lot of people don't _think_."

Draco nodded, "I've been trained to memorise and mark things for further thought in the first pass, and to think or re-attempt to understand, in the second pass. It may looks like I read a book only once and never again, but in effect I read each chapter or section three times instead of the whole book. Of course I know what I'm skimming for on the first pass, and that is an understanding of the outline of what I'll be trying hardest to learn and memorise on the second pass. After I take time to understand all the theory, I only have to skim for details that are more arbitrary but necessary for practical use."

"Interesting," said Padma.

Hermione rubbed her head.

"I imagine my method takes about as much time as what I infer your habits are, Padma."

Padma shrugged, "I wouldn't want to race to find out, that would mess up the point of reading in the first place. I can read faster and I'd be tempted to think less often and for shorter periods,"

Draco nodded, "I also doubt I have the discipline not to just skim straight through, if we were ostensibly racing. And even if we agreed that it wasn't a race, more of an experiment to see who could study a book more quickly and learn the most from it, there would still be the temptation."

Padma nodded, "Now that's settled, what's the deal with the other girl you mentioned?"

"Daphne Greengrass," said Hermione, and looked at Harriet.

Harriet shrugged.

"She'll be in charge if you let her," said Draco, "and she'll be excellent at skimming and note taking and certain other things, and her handwriting is better than Harriet's, I can't really say how it compares to either of yours. Have you considered how Madam Pince will view your little project?"

"I didn't see the need to explain it before," said Hermione, "now I'm not sure how much point there would be to proceed unless we _do _tell her."

"Convince Daphne that you think the project is big enough that you need an administrator, and that you're afraid the school won't accept this advanced muggle method or even listen to what it is for, unless a pure-blood is championing it, perhaps even claiming it as her own."

"Is the prejudice and conservatism really that bad?" said Hermione.

"Yes," sighed Harriet.

"Compared to India, Britain has no idea what conservatism is," said Padma, "which is why even a princess like Mum would choose to emigrate here. But anyway, yes, we want a spokeswoman to keep Madam Pince trying to appease us, not the other way around."

"I can't believe this," said Hermione, "You're all talking this way about how people will act to us, vs. How people will act to us with Daphne. Even after the last war was fought over blood purism? And blood purism lost?"

"The last war _wasn__'t _about blood purism," said Draco, "it was about property rights, specifically about the right to ward your own real estate without a permit, listing those wards on an effect by effect basis, and about whether Batty Crouch was an idiot or a power hungry madman. The dark lord was a half blood, and mostly a figurehead, and most of his followers were half bloods."

"Barty Crouch?" whispered Hermione, "but… how … huh?"

"This seems a familiar conundrum," said Padma, "Aren't all civil wars about completely different things, depending on which side you ask?"

"Sort of?" said Harriet.

"If the dark lord and company were half bloods, how did the movement become associated with pure bloods?"

"Most of them were half bloods who … were both rich enough and powerful enough to more than qualify for full pureblood status as soon as they'd acquired the requisite number of qualifying generations. Most were those who would qualify within a single generation. I believe the muggle term is 'new money.'"

"So this wasn't about whether purebloods could be in charge as usual, it was about how difficult it was for new purebloods to start acting like old purebloods?"

"Precisely," said Draco, "but the proposed new restrictions would affect old purebloods too, they didn't want the restrictions passed either, and they sympathised with the half bloods, but very few cared to _fight _for it. When you have two or three family estates, you don't really mind waiting a year or three for permission to set up wards on a fourth, because you can live safely in one of your other estates. But when you qualify as a new pureblood everyone suddenly knows a general idea of your families assets, waiting three years while robbers plot to burglarise your house, can't be a comfortable feeling."

"Well no," said Hermione, "but it can't be that bad, I mean, muggles make do with burglar alarms and things."

"Banks don't make do with _just _burglar alarms," said Draco, "can all three of you cast a shield charm?"

"Yes," they all said, "the simple one."

"Can you all cast the exploding curse?"

They all shook their heads, no.

"A demonstration then. I want you all to cast the simple shield as strongly as you can after you see or hear that I've cast."

They all nodded and readied their wands.

Draco spun and said still at conversational volume, but with steely determination in his voice, "Diffindo! Protego!" Three more voices echoed "Protego!"

Light flew from his wand, and a table on the far side of the room exploded in large jagged fragments that flew about the room, several bouncing harmlessly off the biggest shield charm that enclosed the others. As the debris settled and the noise died away the shields dropped one by one.

They looked at Draco.

Draco stared at Harriet.

"What?" he said, "What!"

Harriet shrugged, "Ollivander said it would be good for shield charms."

"Is that _all _he told you."

"Also healing," said Harriet, "I had an odd feeling it was only a specific subset of healing magics but he didn't _say _that."

Draco shrugged, "Alright, another demonstration. Harriet, only you need to shield this time. Though if the rest of you also choose to, that might be good practice. Then I'll make repairs."

"Alright," said Harriet.

"DIFFINDO!" shouted Draco.

Three times as much light travelled from his wand, they could still see it fly even after Harriet's shield was raised. It impacted the wall with an impressive concussion, but Harriet felt nothing touch her shield.

"You may lower it now," said Draco.

The wall showed not the slightest scratch or scorch mark.

"That's what proper wards can do," said Draco, and began wandering around levitating splinters of broken table toward where they had originated, while he worked he talked. "no muggle house, not even a bank safe could stand up to an _adult _wizard who really wants access. To defend against magic, you need magic. Barty Crouch's ministry changed the auror force from a primarily investigative force to a more military force and changed the pursuit laws to be significantly more… shall we say, French. So the aurors now had a more extensive duty to chase people purportedly caught in the act all over creation only to have them disappear behind their own wards, or suicide into someone else's. The aurors wanted to somehow know ahead of time what wards were where. Or have all the lethal wards taken down. Or have all wards replaced with versions that would recognise an auror badge and permit them free passage.

"They even convinced some of their own and their sympathisers to install such wards. And got a law forced through that only that kind of ward was legal to build. And within a month criminals had begun ambushing Aurors to steal badges that were in effect keys to several people's homes. And were scheduled to be keys to everyone's homes. That went to court forever, and meanwhile no one else would let the ward re-builders in to do their jobs. That's when it first really getting bloody. Average citizens, many who didn't even have the potentially lethal types wards that the aurors most objected to, were being threatened with having all their wards removed, and replaced, at their own expense, with wards that would let in not only any auror, but also any organised crime group who'd taken the precaution of providing themselves with an stolen auror badge. Those average citizen wouldn't let the re-builders in, were offering to double normal price to forget to get around to their wards, and as a last resort, shooting at the warders when they refused to do anything but their jobs. It didn't take long for the warders to go on strike. And everyone was left with constructing their own wards themselves, which was sometimes more lethal than the intended ward would ever have been. Or trying to get a warder who'd break strike to build a traditional ward under the table. And as with all industries that are suddenly black market. The buyer suddenly has no recourse if they are given bad service. Some of the warders figured this out and became their own organised crime syndicates, selling the old wards, and building the new wards, except with their own access tokens in place of Auror badges. When he-who-must-not-be-named came on the scene and took up the cry of the people he wasn't so much a hero as, a significantly less idiotic choice for a leader than Barty Crouch. The position of Barty Crouch's faction targeted everyone who wanted wards in the near future. Or rather, was allowing them to be targeted by criminals. And threatening to target everyone else's wards as soon as things settled down. Also the aurors were beginning to realise that if all the average citizens actually followed the law as written that legitimate holders of auror badges were in much more constant lethal danger from a new and rapidly organising criminal underworld than they ever had been from wards."

"The dark lord's position went the other way, since half the difficulty in building wards, and the main legal difficulty with lethal wards was the statute of secrecy, removing the need for the statute of secrecy would solve the problem. No one is clear whether he meant it literally or as satire, but people listened, and a few people did what he said, raiding muggle villages and mixed villages, targeting every house who hadn't wards to resist their entry or to resist their fire spells. Those were reported as the most common. There are fire spells that will get through most wards, but those were rarely used, the point was to make a statement about being allowed to have wards in the first place. The only ethical response would have been to sell wards to the muggles, but that of course would require them to be let through the statue of secrecy."

Draco stopped talking to try to get, 'Reparo," to do something, he got a lot of pieces to stick to their neighbours but there were still fragments missing and he turned away to look for them.

"This has been an episode of 'the winners write the history books, tune in after the break to hear the startling conclusion of The Real Story." Sing-song-ed Padma.

Draco shrugged, "Barty Crouch was ousted, in favour of Millicent Bagnold the directives the Auror force was required to operate under became less French, but didn't quite return to the tradition of respect for citizens rights of English Common Law. Most of the stupid regulations were removed but permits are still required for wards based on most dangerous effects. Warning signal, is class 1, I've heard that compared to a muggle style fire ward, class 2, is mental-only effects on the intruder, such as fear, confusion, or compulsion to leave, the common are muggle repelling, intruder repelling or it's more proper name 'a ward repelling those who harbour hostile intent', but there are others with more subtle effects, class 3 is passive shielding, like the walls here, class 4 active shielding up through hazardous and possibly lethal, most common are wards blocking specific charms or activities, such as wards blocking apparition or sound, class 5 is intentionally lethal. I think only embassies and prisons are allowed to install class 5 wards, but most don't. Gringotts has only ever carried class 4, hoping that their guards and dragons will only need to serve summary death to the few who don't surrender when confronted. Anyway, things were getting back to normal, and the dark lord was loosing relevance, which he didn't take kindly. He went after several pure bloods who had new wards installed working through the new system, many got a class or two lower than they might have otherwise. Most famously of course was the Lord Potter and his new family got a class 2 ward on their new home. The Potter Line had traditionally used layered wards generally ranging from class 1 up to class 4 as you approached deeper into their residential space. And they could have afforded their normal ward schema, though their new property wasn't big enough for their normal number of layers, but it was also intended to be a home, not a keep and business conference centre like many of the old manor houses of the old families.

"However there was a new ward schema on the market that purported to be better than all the others, but only qualify as a class 2 based on intended effects, they chose that one, and didn't reinforce it with any of the normal class 3 effects that were generally advised, even by their architect. The dark lord did significant damage of course, but didn't survive the encounter. And the rest is history."

Everyone was quiet.

"But wasn't your dad one of the … of the dark lord's followers?"

"Their ideologies were similar on property rights," said Draco, "And Dad was more vocal than some of the other purebloods, but he didn't tow the same line as the dark lord, at first.

"Since they claimed to speak for the same segment of the population, and because he was so vocal and influential, the difference between the two became glaring. At least inside the Wizengamot where my Uncle Lestrange was the dark lord's mouthpiece. Eventually Dad was put under the imperious curse and kept there. Which the dark lord did not have sufficient opportunity to accomplish, which I infer means that it was not the dark lord who cast and maintained the curse, but my Aunt Bellatrix, Lord Lestrange wife."

"I think I've heard of that," said Hermione, "It's like a super compulsion."

"Basically yes," agreed Draco, "Compulsions are generally very simple, and generally very short in duration perhaps only a few seconds though a powerful caster can sometimes maintain it for several minutes, and many can fight a compulsion just by noticing that it is in effect, most can decide to ignore a particular compulsion command after being exposed to it a time or two, almost always people commanded to do something against their values will immediately begin to resist, and in that situation most will succeed in throwing it off, the imperious is different, they say that it's so easy to recognise that it only takes one exposure with warning beforehand for most to learn to recognise it. But even knowing that one is under it, few can ignore its impetus, fewer still can break the spell."

"So," said Hermione, "As the losing side, you claim it was about something sensible, not about murdering muggles?"

"Crouch was voted out, Wards do require registration, though they're called permits they don't really amount to permits, class 5 permits are hardly ever issued, and class 4 require a six month investigation, but nothing takes two years. So far as my family is concerned, we won. You-know-who lost a duel he shouldn't have started, but wizarding Britain and the Malfoy's position won. With qualification, but won."

"Can you describe the Headmaster's position in the last war?"

"He also militated against negative effects of the statute of secrecy, but he wanted to make the wizarding world more muggle. He wanted to do away with the sponsorship system and make naturalisation either a state function or a school function. Either of those things would effectively make school attendance mandatory. And require certain changes to the curriculum. It _could _homogenise the culture, or it could give the reigning headmaster unprecedented influence over the worldview of the next generation, probably both. For decades Dad has been blocking him from adding an 'introduction to wizarding culture' class for the muggleborn. He's even had to block hiring a history teacher that would teach only things that would look good… in revolutionary France or Stalinist Russia. Yes, our history teacher and our history textbooks are terribly out of date, but I've seen the proposed alternatives. Trust me, getting the right books donated to the library or smuggled in so to speak, by the muggleborn and their sponsors is a lot better. Better ignorance until the interest arises, than indoctrination before interest encourages one to think about what one is reading, and about whether one believes it, or is willing to live in a culture where it is considered the norm, or whatever."

"That's _very _interesting," said Hermione, "outside of Hogwarts, what educational opportunities exist?"

"Anyone may hire tutors, they don't even have to be qualified, just registered as taking responsibility for the safety of the pupil, the upholding of the statute of secrecy, and fulfilling a certain portion of the pupil's education up until the OWL, the NEWT, or Mastery, whichever they and their client choose. There are many village schools that only train to the OWL level, and a few more prestigious schools that train OWL pupils through their NEWT or NEWT pupils through their Mastery. A large portion of the Irish pure-bloods home school through OWL. Dumbledore's own sister was home schooled. And they lived less than an hour's ride away from Hogwarts by broom."

"And there are squib schools," said Padma, "that teach everything except for charms and transfiguration, and skip the parts of defence that requires a wand. They often concentrate more on herbology, animal husbandry, and runes."

"Where does one get this information?" said Hermione.

Draco shrugged, "Your sponsor should have given it to you, unless they were the sort of rich disinterested type who just said, Hogwarts is the best, I'll pay for that, no one will be able to find fault, read these books, here's an owl, write me if you have any questions. Now I've done my duty and may legally go crawl back into my castle and fall asleep on my hoard for four generations."

Hermione blinked, "That was a very good imitation, do you know Flints."

"Yes," said Draco, "he's a sixth year I think, and on the quidditch team, plays by the book, he's an idiot in most things, but he knows the rules of quidditch. I'm disappointed but not surprised to hear that his father isn't far different when it comes to keeping the letter of the law, and not taking a step beyond to fulfilling the spirit of the law. Or the richness of the tradition that the law was put in place to formalise."

"His mother actually," said Hermione, "or at least a woman. She rubbed us all the wrong way, Dad finally had enough and as soon as he was sure Mum had the Hogwarts contact information for muggle parents, he threw her out. She screamed at him from the front yard for a while but left when the neighbours called the cops."

Draco sighed, "Feel free to show dad a pensive memory of that sometime, perhaps he could get her listed as blood traitor, but it sounds like she followed the minimum forms. And he won't be able to do anything, except perhaps nail her for, 'not communicating well' which would mean she's got three years to find another client line, instead of a generation before the debt returns."

"Granted she didn't communicate well," agreed Hermione, "but how is 'not communicating well' a crime?"

"It's not a _crime_," said Draco, "But given that the whole point of being listed as a pure blood, is accepting a responsibility to, among other things, represent the best in wizarding society, 'not communicating well' especially to a muggleborn, is precisely a failure to live up to the pureblood ideal. Call Flint a blood traitor to his face sometime, see what happens. But make sure there are witnesses and you have a shield charm ready."

"Better yet," said Padma, "Don't, or not until you can hold your own in a duel at the level you believe him capable of, and have a speech ready to explain what wrong you've experienced because his mother communicated poorly, and what sort of apology you'd be willing to accept from him on his parents behalf, to let the debt be considered a relic of the previous generation."

Draco stared, "Which school?"

"My family teaches something that when best translated into English resembles Ancient Nott, but what I observe us practising bears greater resemblance to Bones semi-modern."

Draco nodded, "Bones semi-modern has a less vindictive aspect that frees one to give the benefit of the doubt to lesser adversaries when your own life and livelihood, and that of your family (and perhaps their wards) are not threatened. It appeals to me, though I aim to live so that the differences between it and Abbot Modern are unlikely to be apparent."

There was silence during which Hermione raised an eyebrow at Harriet, and Harriet shrugged in return. At length Padma shrugged, "I'm not sure if I would be willing to limit myself in that way. Though I grant leaving everyone guessing between those two could be a useful tactic. But perhaps useful only once."

Draco sighed, "agreed. Would you be offended if my father contacts yours?"

Padma jerked and stood up, then danced a half step to the side to catch her chair and set it straight again. Then she stood behind it and stared into the middle distance, not quite toward Draco's chin, "not … exactly. But perhaps if he waited several years, it would be … much better."

"Do you have a date in mind? Or shall I await your permission? Or shall I ask again once a year?"

"I don't want to discuss it before I have my OWL results," said Padma.

Draco nodded, "That is quite soon enough, I'm sure."

Padma shifted her weight from foot to foot and back, then resumed her chair.

Then she sighed again, "if the subject _does _come up before I wish it to, may I state your name and today's date and my request that you wait for me to prove myself as evidence on my behalf,"

"I would hate to think that you would not do so," said Draco.

Padma smirked, "fair enough." Then she hopped up again, and offered Hermione a hand, "Come on, Mudblood, let's go find Daphne."

Hermione blinked, "isn't that supposed to be…"

Padma grinned, "In India I'm a pureblood and a princess, in mundane Britain I'm a dirty carny, in wizarding Britain I am a mudblood, because I refuse to weaken my claim of pureblood, by retaining the services of a sponsor. All it takes to be proud of the name mudblood, is to be rich enough to pay your own tuition, which you were, and willing to study enough to count yourself as your own sponsor, which I think you'll finish before the end of winter break, that or I've completely missed my guess as to your social intelligence."

"Huh," said Hermione, and moved with her toward the door, "point of order, what was that last conversation between you and Draco.

"Oh," giggled Padma, "he proposed."

"He did?"

The door closed behind them.

"You did?" said Harriet.

"Technically," said Draco, "I requested her permission to request my father to request her father's permission for us to court, but," he shrugged, "if she chooses to mistake one complement for the other, or to abbreviate it for the gryffindor, I don't suppose I mind."

"Draco, you're _eleven_,"

"I am," he said, "and you're twelve, and by some weird convolution, reckoned as 'of age,' yet there are no rumours that you are Jewish."

"How would you _know_?" she said.

"I asked Anthony Goldstein if you'd showed up for their Friday night mass or whatever it's called. And he said no."

"There are synagogue meetings here?" said Harriet.

"I've heard that it's registered as an unlisted club," said Draco, "but yes, that."

"Why unlisted?"

"Because in order to be the kind of club they wanted it has to be school related, to be school related they have to ostensibly discuss magic, to keep with the theme the magic they would ostensibly discuss is cabala, which either freaks out attracts too many muggleborn who know just enough about what cabala is to be insulting. And while cabala is discussed from time to time in passing, _most_ of what they do is light candles, and sing, and pray, and study, and petition the house elves for wine and bread that's been baked in funny shapes."

"You are _so _irreverent," said Harriet.

"It's _not_ my tradition," said Draco, "I probably couldn't do pious without being more insulting. So I stick to facts, without wrapping them up in terminology that I haven't studied, and am certain I'd pronounce wrong."

"Hmm," said Harriet, wondering how he'd respond to someone describing _his _pureblood aesthetics in starkly anthropological terms, actually he'd probably join right in and insist that they go a layer or two more meta and agree with him about overarching goals behind the reasons each practice that existed. Which perhaps was also her objection to his flippant words, they had seemed to imply that the practice had no purpose, but if he were rather allowing for the possibility that his understanding was too shallow to be trusted to not be offensively inaccurate… "alright, fine," she said, "anyway, were there more lessons you wanted to give me on study techniques? Or should I try to read a book or two the way you described first before I try to layer on an additional technique?"

"I think that it might be a good idea to let you pick up one new habit at a time, let's schedule these lessons at about … every two weeks, that should give you a chance to pick most of them up and solidify them fairly firmly before you try to pick up the next one."

"That's the longest between lessons of anything I've ever heard of," she said.

"Trust me, it takes more time to learn something when you're also trying to concentrate on learning something else, which is, by definition, what is going on when learning study skills.

"I suppose that makes sense."

"Is there anything else?" he said.

"What were you talking about to Padma right before you 'proposed' to her?" said Harriet.

"The philosophy of the meaning and method by which to offer and accept an apology, especially in light of the philosophy by which you hold yourself and your family responsible to stamp out the ills of society. That was what convinced me she was the important parts of pure blood, more than any of her explanations of any of the various bits of her family's history. Perhaps it's not very traditional of me, but I want to know if you'll act as a responsible citizen, and how you believe a responsible citizen should act, and once I know that, I don't actually care how many generations it's been since you received tutoring that was paid for by a family friend, instead of by your own parents."

"Or perhaps it's somewhat common," said Harriet, "The last Lord Potter married a muggleborn, didn't he? If only they'd lived we could see how their son turned out with his father's philosophy and his mother's combined."

"True," said Draco, "Anyway, if you ever run across a book called, 'Families and Philosophies, traditions in ethics, ethics in practice,' by Malcolm MacGonagall. You want to buy it or trade the favours necessary to be allowed to study it."

"You say that like it's rare."

"It was only printed once, but given that it was written by a child of a pure blood witch and a muggle minister, (Presbyterian, I believe), and was raised mostly muggle, and then crammed with proper tutoring only after about age nine. He kept an interest in the subject and viewed the philosophy of ethics as a very compelling field of study. He had a line that I don't think I remember quite well enough to do justice to, but it is along the lines of, 'because witches and wizards are more powerful than any government could ever hope to keep in check, wizarding society must police itself. It uses two tools, reputation, and its repercussions, and self-discipline with all its failings. I don't say that magicals are angels, but magicals must hold themselves and their fellow magicals to act in every way as worthy of the title, or their civilisation will crumble.'"

Harriet blinked, and thought about everything Draco had ever implied about the pure blood families policing themselves, mostly by means of public accusations, rather than taking each other to court.

"That sounds like something Hermione should read … or something that she emphatically should not."

"If she could get into her head that she must allow for a certain level of 'not everyone can think of everything, before hand' she'll be able to make excuses for people before she marches in and demands everyone live up to her non-systematised morality, post hoc. What she does now just makes everyone feel awkward and puts her in the wrong mood to learn what they _did _know when they decided to act, which information would put her in a position to begin analysing how people seem to _try_ to act, which would put her in the position I'm in, of trying to guess who I can trust, with what."

"That sounds familiar," said Harriet.

Draco raised an eyebrow.

"I started to tell her about something I heard at home, and realised that I'd never checked up on the information, and that I had no way of checking up on it, and that I couldn't in good conscience tell her what I knew, because I didn't know it. It was rather disturbing."

"Let me guess," said Draco, "all this about how squibs are more sensitive to magic."

Harriet shook her head, "I've heard that and seen evidence of it from enough squibs that I believe it, I'd bet Ollivander is a squib."

Draco blinked at her, and then slapped his forehead, "of course he is, Oh Merlin, you're right, this makes sense of so many things, leave me alone I've got to think… no wait, what was the thing you no longer felt confident in?"

"Just a random bit of trivia about the last war…" Harriet frowned, "tell me, does the four points care more about the name you say or the object you visualise."

"It doesn't have to be a full visualisation, just enough to separate it from the rest," he said and cast the charm so it would point him to a table. It jerked around a bit and he let it fall, but when cast to point to a table that he'd 'repaired' recently, it turned and held steady.

"Could you use it to find someone you've never met before?" said Harriet.

"Probably not," he said, "But I've met almost everyone," and he smirked in a way that Harriet imagined meant both 'everyone worth knowing' and 'just kidding'

He sobered, "If I knew enough about them I might be able to find them."

"Could you find, Harry Potter?"

"Point me, Harry Potter," he said, his wand spun and pointed. "That's … west?" said and stepped to the side. The wand stayed pointed at Harriet.

"Did you visualise how I looked on Halloween?"

"Among other things," he said, and frowned.

"That's not what he looks like, I don't think. Actually I don't know how he looks. If I've met him it was under a different name. All the contact I've had with him has been through my Dad. And most of it by dictated letter."

"So no one could torture you to find out what he looks like or even what his handwriting looks like?" said Draco.

Harriet nodded.

"That is an impressive amount of overkill," said Draco, "is all this compartmentalisation against the dark lord's followers or against Dumbledore."

"I'm not sure, perhaps both," said Harriet, "If I'd known that Dumbledore was the sort of person one might need to plan against that way I might have thought about avoided coming here."

"It's not that bad," said Draco, "Sure he wants to influence all of society by how he runs the school, but it's only one school, and he has Dad and the rest of the board keeping him in check, and don't forget a quarter of slytherin and several students in other houses are the children of board members. Which adds another method as well as another motivation by which to check up on him and keep him in check."

"Yeah," said Harriet, "that's fine for you, and for … me getting an education, it's less fine for me being entrusted with being a sufficient agent for Harry, I'd feel a lot better if I knew even less about his whereabouts than I do."

"How much do you know?" said Draco, "I thought you didn't know anything."

"I don't," she said, "I know I contact him through Mum, and so far all his letters were dictated to Dad. Which means that unless Dad is making frequent trips all over Europe he could be followed without much trouble."

"Then you need to warn your Dad that," said Draco.

"Right," said Harriet.

...

Aftermaths:

Harriet wrote up everything she thought was politically relevant about the conversation, especially the names of the books that Harry might want to read, and sent it off. She received a reply back more quickly than she expected possible. She also buried a hint about having her twelfth birthday October 30th and feeling awkward that her party couldn't happen until December.

Harriet,

You're right. You're on your own until we can speak in person. We'll talk then.

Double check everything important. There is always an additional way. The good prevails through perseverance and creativity. In the end the evil only succeeds in feeding the todal.

Good luck,

Petunia Matirni.

...

"What's the todal?" said Blaise.

"Did you really just read my mail?" said Harriet.

"The way you giggled then spread it out between us I thought you were inviting me to," said Blaise.

"The todal is a creepy little creature from a kids book. It personifies hell or the devil or something, I suppose, it slithers in and devours dedicated evildoers when they make a mistake and are less evil than they ought to have managed to be."

Blaise laughed, "no one is evil for evil's sake, at most they are evil for selfish reasons, to gain power, or to inspire fear. And those who are trying to inspire fear, never try to inspire the maximum amount or the populace would instantly rise up together and destroy them."

"What about Morgan Le'fay," "what about Baba Yaga," "what about—" et cetera bubbled up from around the table.

"Read the original sources, not the strategic exaggerations by their opponents, or the literary exaggerations, that came later," said Blaise, "then get back to me."

"Grindelwald,"

"His motto was, 'for the greater good,' the good he aimed for was socialist, and he stepped all over peoples rights but he wasn't _trying_ to be evil."

"Oh, I see what you're trying to say," said Pansy.

Harriet folded her letter and put it away. She noticed no one suggested the most recent 'dark lord' and she was willing to accept that was a useful indication, even if he had reputedly murdered her aunt and uncle. Of course that _might _have been justified war attrition she hadn't intensively studied history that recent. But she was for the moment willing to accept the possibility.

Or maybe that's why no one brought the last war up, it was still too fresh, no one wanted to be seen as accusing anyone else's parents of being on the wrong sides. Maybe in a private chat about philosophy or history, not here in the middle of breakfast.

**{End Chapter 13}**


	14. Confrontation

**{Disclaimer}**

_If you recognise it from somewhere else, then I almost certainly don__'t own it. When Harriet references characters you don't know, take it as an invitation to catch up on your Shakespeare._

_If you wish to help beta this or future works me please contact me. If you find a spelling or grammar error that takes you out of the story, feel free to tell me about it, though if it__'s inside quotes it _might _be intended as characterisation and I might choose not to fix it. I did my best to use UK spelling and phrasing over US, but assume there are lapses, if you have further suggestions regarding that I__'m open to consider them._

_If there are scenes or one liners that you would like to see with these versions of these characters in future years feel free to send me those as well, no promises. Ditto if I missed obvious allusions to Shakespeare in conversations where characters would have indulged._

_There is already at least one companion OMAKE story in progress. _

_Based on feedback I am re-releasing this in smaller sections, Thanks for the feedback. I apologise for the hyphens it seems the most effective way to keep my line breaks where they belong._

…

_This is an story about who Harry might be, in an AU that diverges before Lily and Snape go to Hogwarts. The divergence starts when Petunia is given a book called __'The Thirteen Clocks' by James Thurber. She finds the formula used by it's protagonists, "If X must be done, and cannot be done by method Y, then it must be attempted by a method not-Y," to be infinitely more useful than "If at first you don't succeed, try try again," and of course she lives too early to have heard the early 21 century buzzword version of the adage, "Fail better."_

_Because of this strategy she manages to gain Snape__'s respect and help, though not the friendship for which she had originally been jealous. With access to his research and aid she managed to gain entrance to a different magical community. A community made up of contented squibs rather than jealous ones._

_..._

_Enjoy,_

_H. Bregalad_

**Confrontation**

Severus was correcting fifth year midterm parchments and having a awful time seeing how poorly prepared so many of his pupils still were for their OWLs. A traitorous but well supported fraction of his mind was prematurely crowing about how many fewer students would be joining the NEWT class. It was not quite the same traitorous fraction of his mind that tried to convince him to welcome the distraction when someone pounded furiously on his study door.

"Enter." He said. From the knocking he expected a Prefect with news of a life threatening bullying injury. Surely he'd made it clear to both Parkensons that he wasn't interested in additional excruciating conversations relating to the posibility of shared ancestry.

Draco Malfoy entered, wearing a wooden expression, after he glanced around he turned and closed the door. When he turned back his expression was anything but calm. Draco at least came by his claims on Severus' emotions honestly, he'd been the boy's godfather from a traditional point in the boy's life. Not like Harriet. Why in hell was it popular this year to be related to one Severus Snape, the Halfblood Prince, youngest Potion Master in generations.

Severus sighed, "you'd better tell me all about it."

"You said you spoke to Harry Potter?"

"I did," said Severus.

"Have you tried the four points charm on him?"

"No," said Severus, "is there reason to believe that it would tell me something interesting."

"Is there a better way to track people by their name only, instead of by whatever limited details you know about them and can hold in your mind all at once? Which is what the four points charm also requires."

"Several, but they aren't first year, a few are restricted, because they reported to be mentally damaging in some cases, if you're looking for a person or the signature of a magical artefact, there are tracking charms that require a sample imprinted by that signature, such as a piece of the subject's hair," said Severus, "Why do you ask?"

"When I cast it for, 'Harry Potter,' it points to someone else. The first time there were reasons to believe that I had cast with a poor visualisation, since then I've refined and practised, I can even cast wordlessly, and it still points to the same person."

"Thank you, Draco," said Severus, "I'll look into it."

"You'll be discrete, won't you?" said Draco. That level of concern looked cute on him.

What an odd thought, Draco hardly ever managed cute anymore, and now it had been twice in a week.

"Yes, I'll be careful who I share your suspicions with."

Draco looked even more concerned, "I'd rather you didn't share them with anyone, I can't imagine anyone important acting … _well _in light of it." _So I__'m not important, nice complement._

"Suppose I trace Harry Potter deep into eastern Europe and find his school, and accidentally let slip that he is the sole survivor of an attack that left a great but perhaps evil or crazy British wizard dead, ten years ago, do you imagine they care about British wizards? The worst it will do is raise suspicions that he is an orphan and might not pay his tuition next year. But since he's paying cash in person, from an administrative standpoint it will change nothing."

Draco shrugged.

"Conversely, suppose I find that this person you found is Harry Potter, hiding in plain sight, obviously that will be an interesting revelation, but—"

"Just cast the charm," said Draco.

"I have parchments to correct," said Snape.

"Cast it and I'll leave you alone,"

Severus stared at his godson, then drew his wand. The spell pointed slightly down and mostly to the right.

"That would be Slytherin common room," calculated Severus, "Let me guess, Harriet Matirni,"

Draco nodded.

"Polyjuice?" said Severus.

Draco shrugged, "Not that I ever caught her taking."

"Other options," muttered Severus, "magic mirrors don't attract the four points, unless you're specifically looking for the mirror in question. It won't detect a mirror based on who's near the other end. If Harriet is wearing an amulet with contains some of his hair, virgin, and thinks of it as her piece of 'Harry Potter' … it might confuse her familiar when he's sent to deliver mail to 'Harry Potter' but it shouldn't confuse anyone else's owls. Or anyone else's four points charm."

"If you were her mother… If you were his aunt…" muttered Severus, "What _did _Dumbledore order his aunt when he turned over the baby to her,"

"Good night, sir." The door closed and Severus spun. Draco was gone.

Did the child not care once he turned the problem over? Did the child report to him instead of to his own father? Did the child report to him after having been ordered to by his father?

Severus put down his papers and wrote a short note to the headmaster.

"In case it interests you, whatever was done to HM to pull HJP's owls to her, also affects the the four points charms. You didn't hear this from me. ~SS"

He knew that the Headmaster would get it in a couple days, He also put notes in his calender to pull Draco and Harriet aside soon and tell them both that explanation. But first, before Harriet had a chance to suggest the story to anyone, He'd confront Petunia with it.

He went back to correcting papers, he finished in record time and looked at the clock. He flooed to spinster's end and walked to the fair ground. They always visited Petunia's old haunts in November.

He cast the four points charm, this time on Petunia's husband.

He found a smart little apothecary laid out in a very odd style, it took him a moment, and then he realised, all the magical ingredients behind the counter no … all the _dangerous _ingredients were behind the counter. He browsed for a few minutes getting an idea how prices compared to the other shops he frequented, it looked like he bought from the same wholesaler that Baxter bought from, but marked up an additional fifteen percent, on the other hand, he marketed to muggles and squibs who might not have access to Diagon Alley or any of the nearer magical market places.

"Oh," said someone, "is there anything I could help you find?"

"I'm mostly just checking prices," said Severus, "actually I'm mostly just killing time until you arrived, are you the Mr. Matirni that married Petunia, nee Evens?"

"Yes," he said, "who do I have the pleasure of addressing."

"Harriet's head of house, and potions professor," said Severus, "a very impressive pupil, Harry is."

"Sir?"

"Oh," said Severus, "she's going by Harry now, ever since her birthday."

His face fell, "yes, very disappointing that she couldn't get home for it, some mix up in the paperwork Petunia said."

"Harriet never hinted anything to me about trying to get home for it, perhaps she didn't wish to miss classes."

He frowned, "Of course she doesn't want to miss classes, but it is a family occasion, not every birthday but for twelve she should have been home."

Snape nodded, "I tried to ask, and she expected the celebration would happen over the winter holidays, but between you and me, she was a bit depressed that day."

The man frowned, and gradually compressed his lips in thought, "her birthday is often the one bright spot that week. No that's not true, the rest of the caravan celebrates the various holidays of the month and season changing."

"Ah," Snape nodded, so much for his suspicion about her birthday, "her transfiguration work has improved greatly, for the first of winter she made up her face and hair to resemble her cousin."

"Which cousin?" The man's eyes went wide in shock and perhaps horror, "She doesn't always have good taste."

Snape shrugged, "I was trying to complement her transfiguration work, not get her in trouble."

"Remind me, what is this transfiguration?"

Snape explained, and explained about creating green glass contact lenses.

The man thought that was ingenious, and asked about her hair.

Snape told about the wig. And said it looked more like Harry's father, than the not-quite-neat boy he'd seen on his last visit.

The man frowned, "that was not well done, he is very sensitive about his hair."

Snape could imagine, it was the only aspect of the whole image the boy projected that was the least bit comical.

"Could you explain to me how the mail re-routing was accomplished?" said Severus, "it's caused some confusion and it would help if we knew what was in place so we know what to expect, and perhaps begin to alleviate these problems before they arise."

The man shrugged, "Petunia took them to a specialist in London, I never heard anything back except he hadn't needed to be told either of their names, and he tried to convince Petunia that he didn't mind not being payed. That set Harry off of course and he insisted on paying. He's like that, very proud but refuses to accept worship. Harriet is similar, you said she didn't even ask for permission to return home for her birthday?"

That was a different view of the subject.

"It is so hard to convince her to say what she wants for her birthday," said her father, "I don't suppose you have any insight?"

"I gave her a book of historical plays and poetry."

"Ah!" he said, "I'm sure she liked that."

This wasn't getting him anywhere, "Harriet mentioned that Harry doesn't go by his name at home."

"That's true," said the man, "when we understood what he'd been through we raised him under a different name, he knows his real name, but he answers more readily several others some he picked out, some that were chosen for him by all and sundry."

"Is there a better name for me to call him, to avoid mentioning the name he is most famous by?"

"Ah!" said the man, "he has a set of eight, which he changes among just about every month." He frowned, "Or he did, I suppose he's stopped all that annoyance when he went away to school."

"Ah yes," said Snape, "How is he progressing at school?"

"Doing well according to the half term results, I wish he would write more often,"

"I don't suppose a half term is enough to show his strengths and weaknesses, or for that matter, those of the programs he's attending?"

The man shrugged, "Not yet, and I give him until the end of term to use the results so far to adjust where he invests his study time. Why did Harry's names come up?"

"It came up because some people have started shortening Harriet's name and she had to decide whether to rebuke them, and if so what if any explanation to give."

"What did she decide?"

"Like I said, She dressed as 'Harry Potter' for Halloween, or rather a caricature of him, though between you and I only the eyes and hair matched particularly,"

"When did you meet him?"

"When I visited to help Harriet and the Patil twins buy their school supplies."

"Ah, Yes," the man said, "did you wish to speak to their parents as well, or only Petunia and I."

"I came to speak to Petunia, but the apothecary caught my attention. And a mobile apothecary, well I had to come in and see how you arranged things."

"Yes, of course," he said, reaching for the closed sign, "shall we go meet her now?"

"Why not," said Severus.

He felt an odd emotion as the man's back was to him. But it passed when the 'closed' sign was in place and the man turned back to usher him out.

They went to an odd tent like wagon that was a striped in darker colours than Severus remembered, but he supposed the canvas might need replacing from time to time.

They found Petunia inside and counselling someone on a returning ear infection. In the end she bundled up several containers and told her to administer them in succession two drops in the morning and in the evening, for three days each. Discontinuing any immediately if there were an adverse reaction. Whichever seemed most effective, use it until it ran out, and then mail her for a full bottle.

A minute more of small talk and Petunia ushered the patron out the back door, she saw them standing there and beckoned them in and motioned for them to sit.

They made a bit of small talk, and Snape thought there might be something odd about which bits of news, and which bits of his own commentary on that news Mr. Matirni chose to repeat to Petunia. Petunia seemed interested in it all, though she made few comments of her own.

When the man wound down she seemed to relax and turn to Snape, "Sev, you're rarely the type to visit just to shoot the breeze, unless you already had business in town and just wanted to stop by?"

"No," said Severus, "It was mostly that question about how you managed to get Harry Potter's mail to go to Harriet,"

She frowned, "to tell you the truth, that wasn't the original intent. We didn't really figure out there had been any change with the mail until his Hogwarts letter arrived. No one ever sent him owls, I didn't really think it odd until Harriet started sending them every week or two, and always something in them about how Harry is such a celebrity and how and which close friends she's revealed anything about a connection to him."

"Do you know how it was done? Your husband said something about a specialist in Diagon?"

"No the specialist was to try to undo it, as I remember, there had been people in outlandish clothing, some with their magic showing and some with it masked more or less successfully. They were always bothering the children, some could tell sensitives from witches and some could not, I suppose it's harder when they're younger, I didn't realise it until Harriet had already figured it out and fixed it. Accidental magic I'm sure. They would tend to wander until they found any magical boy near Harry's age and then begin asking all sorts of questions, Harry never told his name of course, but Harry also hadn't been told why people might be looking for him, and all the other boys that age with enough magic for the bumblers to notice were becoming either annoyed or terrified by the attention. Harriet realised that they did sometimes find her just the same as they found the others, but they left her alone. She wished that she was the only one the bumblers could find, and after that they only found her. It made problems for all four boys' mothers so I took her to a specialist to see if it could be undone, but he couldn't fix it. Said it was ongoing accidental magic and had a root deep in the light half of her core, and that it couldn't be removed without damaging her, perhaps without turning her dark. And the longer she held up the burden the stronger her light side would be. Said we should let her 'keep helping' for as long as she felt like it, and say 'thank you' when she stopped, and re-assure her at that point that we didn't resent that she couldn't keep it up longer.

"In the end, the easiest solution was send her to carry the messages to those four, since no one else could find them on purpose. Sometimes she resented the chore, but she never connected it to her wish that they be safe from outsiders, nor did she ever seem to tire of the task."

"I see," said Snape, "Thank you, that's very helpful."

"So why did you need to know?"

"One of my students, my godson in fact learned a spell for finding things, you have to know a bit about the target for it to work. He is good friends with Harriet and though he might impress her by for once knowing a bit of trivia about Harry Potter that she didn't, such as which school he was attending. He got out a map and marked his best guesses where the best schools are, and cast the charm, and realised immediately by the direction he was getting that he'd found the wrong thing, A little checking and he knew he'd found Harriet. More reading up on the spell and he decided that trying to find anyone based on how someone else looked when dressed up as your target for a masquerade was bound to fail and he studied other things that are known or theorised about Harry Potter, he still only found Harriet.

"Then he reported to me, or to be more precise came to me because he didn't wish to go to his charms professor for help with his results, but figured that as mutual godfather of both of them, I could be trusted both to know of the problem, and to explain what he was doing wrong. I told him it had been done intentionally to draw Potter's owls to her also since it's already rumoured among the students that that happens. He seemed mollified, but more determined than ever to learn … something. What the something is I haven't figured, if he's trying to impress her he ought to try memorising Keats."

Harriet's father snorted, "you ought to tell him that."

"I might," said Severus.

"But his trouble got you interested, and you thought you'd ask us instead of bothering Harriet."

"Harriet has a lot on her plate," said Severus, "I didn't want to get her started on some sort of existential crisis, when I could already tell that the two data points I had already looked like a group of their own."

"If you're the investigating type," said Petunia, "and Harriet's mail is of interest to you, I have a conundrum for you: Why isn't Harriet receiving tons and tons of fan mail aimed at Harry Potter?"

"Because Dumbledore thought of that before he even brought you the child, it accumulates in a Hogwarts store room at about a ton a month and is sifted through by a legal team, most of it ends up being sold and the proceeds deposited in his vaults."

"Ah," said Petunia, "that explains it,"

"I believe Harriet has been invited to watch, in case she wishes to make changes to the disposal policies, I'd like to invite you also, though if you put your visit off until when the school is not in session it would make _all _the logistics of such a visit significantly easier."

Petunia shook her head, "we can worry about that some other time," she said.

"Disappointed?" said Severus.

Petunia snorted, "the real explanations for things are often so mundane, especially when wise people take the time to think ahead."

"Quite," said Severus, "I wonder if we shouldn't get together to compare notes more often, is there anything else you'd like to know about how Dumbledore has tried to pull strings for you and Harry ever since he asked you to take him."

"Sure," said Harriet's father, "please tell us everything,"

"He got the circus a license to trade with muggles and enchanted an automatically updating itinerary, so that everyone here is somewhat protected from prosecution for breeches of the international statute of secrecy. And to make the aurors feel more comfortable that they know where to come to stop outbreaks if a muggle broke in and caused more trouble than you or the police could deal with."

"Did he really," said Harriet's father, "Well how about that."

"It would have made it easier for him to keep tabs on Harry," said Petunia.

"I made him give me his oath he wouldn't be peeping into your private lives," said Severus, "that itinerary would provide a good start for a detective trying to piece together a crime report, or me trying to visit, but it doesn't show much that isn't mostly public knowledge anyway."

"What exactly does it track?" said Petunia.

"What do you mean?"

"It would be simple to make it track Harry before he brought him here," said Petunia, "but does it report when we take him to visit Harriet's grandfather in Slovenia? Or does it track my wagon, but suppose I sold my wagon. Or track my suit case or brewing equipment? Hmm?"

Severus smiled to be reminded of a particularly good joke, "Ah, but which wagons haven't you replaced in the last decade?"

Petunia frowned and turned to her husband. He was rapidly trying to recall everything that had happened in that time.

"More to the point," said Severus, "which wagon could he have predicted would still be with the circus in fifty years."

"The concertina," said husband and wife together. "Smart man," he said.

"It wasn't fail-safe," said Severus, "but it was the best gamble he could calculate."

"What else," said Petunia.

"Something about protective wards of some sort," said Severus, "anti-hostility wards or something to keep the mobs from getting as violent, he'd intended to give you something else more all encompassing, but realised that it would interfere with the business of what a circus is supposed to be. With his experience running a school he has a keen sense of … not exerting too much order at the expense of fun and creativity."

Petunia nodded, "I seem to remember that episode."

"Devil of a time getting everything to go back to its proper colour," said her husband.

Severus looked between them with a raised eyebrow, and realised that they weren't going to answer until he asked.

"Alright, what happened?"

"It changed the colour of everything's magic, we had to take it off again, it was keeping the crowds from knowing how they were supposed to flow around and through everything. The crowds are a herd, even if they don't have conscious access to their instincts, or to their herd magic. When the leaders that are capable of violence are kept out the rest have no one to follow, no one to cut trail for them, without that they bunch and huddle and try to find back ways. Since roman times there are many more leaders than at earlier times, and more again since democracy and a philosophy of upward mobility started to allow and reward those who had the ability to lead with better titles than 'chief brigand'."

Severus closed his eyes and wondered what it would be like to be able to recognise those things instantly, in the auras that he'd heard squibs describe before. Rather than needing to fold his mind into the shape that would allow him to practice legilimency, and then only being able to see surface thoughts unless he was willing to struggle deeper into older memories.

"So," said Severus, "that bit of protection was also not helpful. That is interesting to me, but I believe I will not tell Dumbledore immediately. He would doubtless rush off at once to put something else in place. Worse, I don't believe he has a firm grasp of how common natural leaders have become among the mundanes, nor how much magic even a muggle possesses."

"Of course they possess magic, or magic posses them, humans are a magical race. Its just that like trees, some of us grow in an way that is more attuned to the colours that shape the world, and some to the colours that shape conversation and ideas, and some to the colours that shape their own minds."

"An interesting description," said Severus, "are there bowtruckles for humans?"

"You mean, are there animals who both identify and are attracted to humans of specific magical varieties, and who feast upon their parasites, and otherwise protect them?

"Something like that," said Severus.

"Why kneazles of course," said Petunia, "they feed their magic on wrackspurts and other magical and mental parasites. Perhaps you should get one."

Severus rubbed his forehead, "I don't have time for a cat,"

"Now now," said Petunia, "they don't take much time, and the point is that they take care of _you_. Also I said kneazle, not cat. Be careful of cats, some of them carry parasites of their own that you should be careful of. Kneazle magic keeps their _bodies _parasite free, but they are prone to magical parasites of their own, so you must be careful to pick a good one and keep it healthy."

"As I said," Severus repeated, "I don't have time for one,"

"Alright," said Petunia holding up her hands, "it was just a suggestion, there are a couple others: ice phoenix eat briskal mites if they see them within reach. Their eyes are better than most birds of prey, an ice phoenix is a rare enough, be nice to them whenever you get the chance.

"I don't go out of my way to annoy birds," said Snape.

"I'm sure you annoy everything equally just by the mere fact of your personality," said Petunia, "I'm not talking about that, I'm saying be nice to phoenixes whatever the colour, even if you have to go out of your way a bit."

"And their owners I suppose?"

Petunia shook her head, "According to the lore that I've read, magicals take familiars except in the case of kneazles, phoenixes, and dragons. With a kneazle the bond is mutual, though the will and intellect are not balanced. With a phoenix, it is the phoenix that takes the familiar, not the magical, and they sometimes choose other beings than human. And with dragons the texture of the bond is different because the dragon has the intellect and willpower to sever the bond directly, or to use the bond to hunt down the unfortunate being who thought that they could be of use to a dragon. It's not impossible, but it is exceedingly rare for the relationship to work in practice."

Snape shrugged, "I'm not particularly interested in any of those, though perhaps someday a kneazle would become a good choice."

"Getting back to the point," said Petunia's husband, "how many of our other problems were instigated by the meddler?"

Snape shook his head, "that's everything I believe."

The man nodded, "good, the last two cases I've been laying to the blame of those paparazzi or whatever they were who were looking for Harry."

"Anything residual I could help with?" said Severus.

The man hook his head.

"Alright," said Severus, "Anything else we should discuss?"

"Sure," said the man, "Who's spy are you?"

"What?" said Severus, and felt his occlumency barriers for evidence of infiltration.

"You're obviously a spy, where do your true loyalties lay?"

Severus breathed carefully several times, then shrugged, "you can't possibly expect _anyone_ to give a response to that."

The man shrugged, "It was worth a try."

Severus breathed again, "I suppose I could have been a spy if things had turned out differently. As it is I am merely a go between for the saner faction of purebloods and the more powerful block of progressives."

What followed was an amazingly frank discussion of the politics of magical Britain over the course of the last five years.

Severus was re-acquainted with Petunia's amazing ability to see her way clear of thorny problems by taking the third or fourth option, if she'd been the one with magic instead of Lily, and if she'd teamed up with Moody … or Bones after Moody was done training her, how different the last war and recent peace could have gone.

He also began to be interested in where Harriet and Harry would take the world once they finished school and re-combined forces. And then he remembered.

"Quick question," he said, "my godson was confiding to me worries about the stress Harriet was feeling herself to be under, and he made the statement in passing that Harriet reports never having met Harry, yet according to my memory, you sent Harriet to retrieve Harry."

The man frowned and looked at Petunia, "I didn't think Harriet knew which one is Harry."

"She doesn't," said Petunia, "I sent her to pass a message that would retrieve one of her other cousins, and wait elsewhere while we had our discussion with him."

"So that wasn't Harry?"

"Rather," said Petunia, "Harriet doesn't know that it was Harry. Nor does she know if the cousin who notified her to come back was Harry or another go between."

Severus reviewed his memory, that was possible, but no one would have expected it from the encounter.

He was dealing with people who could have been spies themselves, well perhaps they weren't lethal enough, but they were tricky enough. Amateur they might be, but with twelve years experience at this particular charade he'd have to be at the top of his game to roll up this level of compartmentalisation. The question was, should he. It was to keep Lily's child safe from outside violence or influence. And hopefully to protect Harriet from too much pressure to spill secrets she'd never been given.

On the other hand, was the Harry he'd met even been the real Harry?

Had he even been magical?

He'd had Lily's eyes and Potter's hair.

Harriet had made green contacts in an afternoon, and had complained about lack of high grade mask material. It seemed just as likely that the instructions from her mother had been, 'go find your cousin x, and put him in the Harry Potter mask, and send him here.'

Was Harry Potter even in Europe? Even alive? Wait.

"How much dealing have you had with Gringotts?" said Severus.

"As little as possible," said Petunia, "usually Royce gets whatever money changed that we need."

Severus nodded.

"Where's your twisted mind going if it came from Harry and passed to Gringotts?"

"Just thinking about their magical heritage tests if Harry ever loses that key I passed him."

Harriet's father smirked. Her mother shrugged, "he's been warned,"

And what about Harriet's trust fund… Why did _Harriet_ have a trust fund. Or rather why was it held at Gringotts.

Harry's letter had said, "I trust her in all things as my agent," she'd been carrying his key, or she had been that day. The reason she'd had enough Galleons on hand for the wand was because she'd been instructed to withdraw enough for the two of them. It would have been interesting to have been a fly on the wall for the discussion _that_ evening.

And Harry _still _trusted her.

Perhaps the more interesting thing would have been to hear her exact instructions before departing that morning. Or had he been there and missed it?

**{End Chapter 14}**


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